Ill 


UNIVERSITY  O 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN 


PM 


MASTERPIECES   OF   ADVENTURE 


Masterpieces  of 
Adventure 

In  Four  Volumes 

ADVENTURES  WITHIN  WALLS 

Edited  by 
Nella  Braddy 


Garden  City  New  York 

Doubleday,  Page   &  Company 

1922 


COPYRIGHT,    1921,   BY 
DOUBLEDAY,   PAGE  &  COMPANY 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED,  INCLUDING  THAT  OF  TRANSLATION 
INTO  FOREIGN  LANGUAGES,  INCLUDING  THK  SCANDINAVIAN 

PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES 

AT 
THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS,  GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


GRATEFULLY   DEDICATED 
TO 

BLANCHE  COLTON  WILLIAMS,  PH.D. 


EDITOR'S  NOTE 

In  these  volumes  the  word  adventure  has  been 
used  in  its  broadest  sense  to  cover  not  only  strange 
happenings  in  strange  places  but  also  love  and  life 
and  death — all  things  that  have  to  do  with  the  great 
adventure  of  living.  Questions  as  to  the  fitness  of  a 
story  were  settled  by  examining  the  qualities  of  the 
narrative  as  such  rather  than  by  reference  to  a 
technical  classification  of  short  stories. 

It  is  the  inalienable  right  of  the  editor  of  a  work 
of  this  kind  to  plead  copyright  difficulties  in  extenua- 
tion for  whatever  faults  it  may  possess.  We  beg  the 
reader  to  believe  that  this  is  why  his  favorite  story 
was  omitted  while  one  vastly  inferior  was  included 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.    THE  SIRE  DE  MALfeTRorr's  DOOR     .        3 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

IE.    A  DouBLE-D\ED  DECEIVER    ...      35 
0.  Henry 

HE.    THE  BOLD  DRAGOON 53 

Washington  Irving 

IV.    THE  BET ...      66 

Anton  Chekhov 

V.    LA  GRANDE  BRETECHE       ....      78 
Honore  de  Balzac 

VI.    THE  MASQUE  OP  THE  RED  DEATH    .     no 

Edgar  Allan  Poe 

VIE.    DR.  MANETTE'S  MANUSCRIPT  .     .     .     120 
Charles  Dickens 

m.    SILENCE .     142 

Leonidas  Andreiyeff 


MASTERPIECES   OF   ADVENTURE 


Masterpieces  of 
Adventure 


i 

THE  SIRE  DE  MALfiTROIT'S  DOOR* 

ROBERT  Louis  STEVENSON 

DENIS  DE  BEAULIEU  was  not  yet  two- 
and-twenty,  but  he  counted  himself  a  grown 
man,  and  a  very  accomplished  cavalier  into 
the  bargain.  Lads  were  early  formed  in  that  rough, 
warfaring  epoch;  and  when  one  has  been  in  a 
pitched  battle  and  a  dozen  raids,  has  killed  one's 
man  in  an  honourable  fashion,  and  knows  a  thing  or 
two  of  strategy  and  mankind,  a  certain  swagger  in 
the  gait  is  surely  to  be  pardoned.  He  had  put  up  his 
horse  with  due  care,  and  supped  with  due  delibera- 
tion; and  then,  in  a  very  agreeable  frame  of  mind, 
went  out  to  pay  a  visit  in  the  grey  of  the  evening. 
It  was  not  a  very  wise  proceeding  on  the  young  man's 

•Reprinted  by  permission  of  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 
3 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

part.  He  would  have  done  better  to  remain  beside 
the  fire  or  go  decently  to  bed.  For  the  town  was 
full  of  the  troops  of  Burgundy  and  England  under  a 
mixed  command;  and  though  Denis  was  there  on 
safe-conduct,  his  safe-conduct  was  like  to  serve  him 
little  on  a  chance  encounter. 

It  was  September  1429;  the  weather  had  fallen 
sharp;  a  flighty,  piping  wind,  laden  with  showers, 
beat  about  the  township;  and  the  dead  leaves  ran 
riot  along  the  streets.  Here  and  there  a  window 
was  already  lighted  up;  and  the  noise  of  men-at-arms 
making  merry  over  supper  within,  came  forth  in  fits 
and  was  swallowed  up  and  carried  away  by  the  wind. 
The  night  fell  swiftly;  the  flag  of  England,  fluttering 
on  the  spire-top,  grew  ever  fainter  and  fainter 
against  the  flying  clouds — a  black  speck  like  a  swal- 
low in  the  tumultuous,  leaden  chaos  of  the  sky.  As 
the  night  fell  the  wind  rose,  and  began  to  hoot  under 
archways  and  roar  amid  the  tree-tops  in  the  valley 
below  the  town. 

Denis  de  Beaulieu  walked  fast  and  was  soon  knock- 
ing at  his  friend's  door;  but  though  he  promised  him- 
self to  stay  only  a  little  while  and  make  an  early 
return,  his  welcome  was  so  pleasant,  and  he  found  so 
much  to  delay  him,  that  it  was  already  long  past 
midnight  before  he  said  good-bye  upon  the  threshold. 
The  wind  had  fallen  again  in  the  meanwhile;  the 
night  was  as  black  as  the  grave;  not  a  star,  nor  a 
glimmer  of  moonshine,  slipped  through  the  canopy 
of  cloud.  Denis  was  ill-acquainted  with  the  intricate 
4 


The  Sire  de  Maletroit's  Door 

lanes  of  Chateau  Landon;  even  by  daylight  he  had 
found  some  trouble  in  picking  his  way;  and  in  this 
absolute  darkness  he  soon  lost  it  altogether.  He  was 
certain  of  one  thing  only — to  keep  mounting  the 
hill;  for  his  friend's  house  lay  at  the  lower  end,  or 
tail,  of  Chateau  Landon,  while  the  inn  was  up  at 
the  head,  under  the  great  church  spire.  With  this 
clue  to  go  upon  he  stumbled  and  groped  forward, 
now  breathing  more  freely  in  open  places  where  there 
was  a  good  slice  of  sky  overhead,  now  feeling  along 
the  wall  in  stifling  closes.  It  is  an  eerie  and  mysteri- 
ous position  to  be  thus  submerged  in  opaque  black- 
ness in  an  almost  unknown  town.  The  silence  is 
terrifying  in  its  possibilities.  The  touch  of  cold 
window  bars  to  the  exploring  hand  startles  the  man 
like  the  touch  of  a  toad;  the  inequalities  of  the  pave- 
ment shake  his  heart  into  his  mouth;  a  piece  of  denser 
darkness  threatens  an  ambuscade  or  a  chasm  in  the 
pathway;  and  where  the  air  is  brighter,  the  houses 
put  on  strange  and  bewildering  appearances,  as  if 
to  lead  him  farther  from  his  way.  For  Denis,  who 
had  to  regain  his  inn  without  attracting  notice,  there 
was  real  danger  as  well  as  mere  discomfort  in  the 
walk;  and  he  went  warily  and  boldly  at  once, 'and  at 
every  corner  paused  to  make  an  observation. 

He  had  been  for  some  time  threading  a  lane  so 
narrow  that  he  could  touch  a  wall  with  either  hand, 
when  it  began  to  open  out  and  go  sharply  downward. 
Plainly  this  lay  no  longer  in  the  direction  of  his  inn; 
but  the  hope  of  a  little  more  light  tempted  him  for- 
5 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

ward  to  reconnoitre.  The  lane  ended  in  a  terrace 
with  a  bartizan  wall,  which  gave  an  outlook  between 
high  houses,  as  out  of  an  embrasure,  into  the  valley 
lying  dark  and  formless  several  hundred  feet  below. 
Denis  looked  down,  and  could  discern  a  few  tree-tops 
waving  and  a  single  speck  of  brightness  where  the 
river  ran  across  a  weir.  The  weather  was  clearing  up, 
and  the  sky  had  lightened,  so  as  to  show  the  outline 
of  the  heavier  clouds  and  the  dark  margin  of  the  hills. 
By  the  uncertain  glimmer,  the  house  on  his  left  hand 
should  be  a  place  of  some  pretensions;  it  was  sur- 
mounted by  several  pinnacles  and  turret-tops;  the 
round  stern  of  a  chapel,  with  a  fringe  of  flying  but- 
tresses, projected  boldly  from  the  main  block;  and 
the  door  was  sheltered  under  a  deep  porch  carved 
with  figures  and  overhung  by  two  long  gargoyles. 
The  windows  of  the  chapel  gleamed  through  their 
intricate  tracery  with  a  light  as  of  many  tapers,  and 
threw  out  the  buttresses  and  the  peaked  roof  in  a 
more  intense  blackness  against  the  sky.  It  was 
plainly  the  hotel  of  some  great  family  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood; and  as  it  reminded  Denis  of  a  town  house 
of  his  own  at  Bourges,  he  stood  for  some  time  gazing 
up  at  it  and  mentally  gauging  the  skill  of  the  archi- 
tects and  the  consideration  of  the  two  families. 

There  seemed  to  be  no  issue  to  the  terrace  but 
the  lane  by  which  he  had  reached  it;  he  could  only 
retrace  his  steps,  but  he  had  gained  some  notion  of 
his  whereabouts,  and  hoped  by  this  means  to  hit  the 
main  thoroughfare  and  speedily  regain  the  inn.  He 
6 


The  Sire  de  Maletroit's  Door 

was  reckoning  without  that  chapter  of  accidents 
which  was  to  make  this  night  memorable  above  all 
others  in  his  career;  for  he  had  not  gone  back  above 
a  hundred  yards  before  he  saw  a  light  coming  to  meet 
him,  and  heard  loud  voices  speaking  together  in 
the  echoing  narrows  of  the  lane.  It  was  a  party  of 
men-at-arms  going  the  night  round  with  torches. 
Denis  assured  himself  that  they  had  all  been  making 
free  with  the  wine-bowl,  and  were  in  no  mood  to  be 
particular  about  safe-conducts  or  the  niceties  of 
chivalrous  war.  It  was  as  like  as  not  that  they 
would  kill  him  like  a  dog  and  leave  him  where  he 
fell.  The  situation  was  inspiriting  but  nervous. 
Their  own  torches  would  conceal  him  from  sight, 
he  reflected;  and  he  hoped  that  they  would  drown 
the  noise  of  his  footsteps  with  their  own  empty 
voices.  If  he  were  but  fleet  and  silent,  he  might 
evade  their  notice  altogether. 

Unfortunately,  as  he  turned  to  beat  a  retreat,  his 
foot  rolled  upon  a  pebble;  he  fell  against  the  wall 
with  an  ejaculation,  and  his  sword  rang  loudly  on 
the  stones.  Two  or  three  voices  demanded  who 
went  there — some  in  French,  some  in  English;  but 
Denis  made  no  reply,  and  ran  the  faster  down  the 
lane.  Once  upon  the  terrace,  he  paused  to  look 
back.  They  still  kept  calling  after  him,  and  just 
then  began  to  double  the  pace  in  pursuit,  with  a 
considerable  clank  of  armour,  and  great  tossing  of  the 
torchlight  to  and  fro  in  the  narrow  jaws  of  the 
passage. 

7 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

Denis  cast  a  look  around  and  darted  into  the 
porch.  There  he  might  escape  observation,  or — 
if  that  were  too  much  to  expect — was  in  a  capital 
posture  whether  for  parley  or  defence.  So  thinking, 
he  drew  his  sword  and  tried  to  set  his  back  against 
the  door.  To  his  surprise,  it  yielded  behind  his 
weight;  and  though  he  turned  in  a  moment,  con- 
tinued to  swing  back  on  oiled  and  noiseless  hinges, 
until  it  stood  wide  open  on  a  black  interior.  When 
things  fall  out  opportunely  for  the  person  con- 
cerned, he  is  not  apt  to  be  critical  about  the  how  or 
why,  his  own  immediate  personal  convenience 
seeming  a  sufficient  reason  for  the  strangest  oddities 
and  revolutions  in  our  sublunary  things;  and  so 
Denis,  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  stepped 
within  and  partly  closed  the  door  behind  him  to 
conceal  his  place  of  refuge.  Nothing  was  further 
from  his  thoughts  than  to  close  it  altogether;  but  for 
some  inexplicable  reason — perhaps  by  a  spring  or  a 
weight — the  ponderous  mass  of  oak  whipped  itself 
out  of  his  fingers  and  clanked  to,  with  a  formidable 
rumble  and  a  noise  like  the  falling  of  an  automatic 
bar. 

The  round,  at  that  very  moment,  debouched 
upon  the  terrace  and  proceeded  to  summon  him  with 
shouts  and  curses.  He  heard  them  ferreting  in  the 
dark  corners;  the  stock  of  a  lance  even  rattled  along 
the  outer  surface  of  the  door  behind  which  he  stood; 
but  these  gentlemen  were  in  too  high  a  humour  to 
be  long  delayed,  and  soon  made  off  down  a  cork- 
8 


The  Sire  de  Maletroit's  Door 

scre\\  pathway  which  had  escaped  Denis's  observa- 
tion, and  passed  out  of  sight  and  hearing  along  the 
battlements  of  the  town. 

Denis  breathed  again.  He  gave  them  a  few 
minutes'  grace  for  fear  of  accidents,  and  then  groped 
about  for  some  means  of  opening  the  door  and 
slipping  forth  again.  The  inner  surface  was  quite 
smooth,  not  a  handle,  not  a  moulding,  not  a  projec- 
tion of  any  sort.  He  got  his  finger-nails  round  the 
edges  and  pulled,  but  the  mass  was  immovable.  He 
shook  it,  it  was  as  firm  as  a  rock.  Denis  de  Beaulieu 
frowned  and  gave  vent  to  a  little  noiseless  whistle. 
What  ailed  the  door?  he  wondered.  Why  was  it 
open?  How  came  it  to  shut  so  easily  and  so  effect- 
ually after  him?  There  was  something  obscure  and 
underhand  about  all  this,  that  was  little  to  the 
young  man's  fancy.  It  looked  like  a  snare;  and 
yet  who  could  suppose  a  snare  in  such  a  quiet  by- 
street and  in  a  house  of  so  prosperous  and  even 
noble  an  exterior?  And  yet — snare  or  no  snare, 
intentionally  or  unintentionally — here  he  was, 
prettily  trapped;  and  for  the  life  of  him  he  could  see 
no  way  out  of  it  again.  The  darkness  began  to 
weigh  upon  him.  He  gave  ear;  all  was  silent  without, 
but  within  and  close  by  he  seemed  to  catch  a  faint 
sighing,  a  faint  sobbing  rustle,  a  little  stealthy  creek 
— as  though  many  persons  were  at  his  side,  holding 
themselves  quite  still,  and  governing  even  their 
respiration  with  the  extreme  of  slyness.  The  idea 
went  to  his  vitals  with  a  shock,  and  he  faced  about 
9 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

suddenly  as  if  to  defend  his  life.  Then,  for  the  first 
time,  he  became  aware  of  a  light  about  the  level  of 
his  eyes  and  at  some  distance  in  the  interior  of  the 
house — a  vertical  thread  of  light,  widening  toward 
the  bottom,  such  as  might  escape  between  two 
wings  of  arras  over  a  doorway.  To  see  anything 
was  a  relief  to  Denis;  it  was  like  a  piece  of  solid 
ground  to  a  man  labouring  in  a  morass;  his  mind 
seized  upon  it  with  avidity;  and  he  stood  staring 
at  it  and  trying  to  piece  together  some  logical  con- 
ception of  his  surroundings.  Plainly  there  was  a 
flight  of  steps  ascending  from  his  own  level  to  that 
of  this  illuminated  doorway;  and  indeed  he  thought 
he  could  make  out  another  thread  of  light,  as  fine  as 
a  needle  and  as  faint  as  phosphorescence,  which 
might  very  well  be  reflected  along  the  polished  wood 
of  a  handrail.  Since  he  had  begun  to  suspect  that 
he  was  not  alone,  his  heart  had  continued  to  beat 
with  smothering  violence,  and  an  intolerable  desire 
for  action  of  any  sort  had  possessed  itself  of  his 
spirit.  He  was  in  deadly  peril,  he  believed.  What 
could  be  more  natural  than  to  mount  the  staircase, 
lift  the  curtain,  and  confront  his  difficulty  at  once? 
At  least  he  would  be  dealing  with  something  tangi- 
ble; at  least  he  would  be  no  longer  in  the  dark.  He 
stepped  slowly  forward  with  outstretched  hands, 
until  his  foot  struck  the  bottom  step ;  then  he  rapidly 
scaled  the  stairs,  stood  for  a  moment  to  compose 
his  expression,  lifted  the  arras  and  went  in. 
He  found  himself  in  a  large  apartment  of  polished 
10 


The  Sire  de  Maletroit's  Door 

«tone.  There  were  three  doors;  one  on  each  of 
three  sides;  all  similarly  curtained  with  tapestry. 
The  fourth  side  was  occupied  by  two  large  windows 
and  a  great  stone  chimney-piece,  carved  with  the 
arms  of  the  Maletroits.  Denis  recognized  the 
bearings,  and  was  gratified  to  find  himself  in  such 
good  hands.  The  room  was  strongly  illuminated; 
but  it  contained  little  furniture  except  a  heavy 
table  and  a  chair  or  two,  the  hearth  was  innocent  of 
fire,  and  the  pavement  was  but  sparsely  strewn 
with  rushes  clearly  many  days  old. 

On  a  high  chair  beside  the  chimney,  and  directly 
facing  Denis  as  he  entered,  sat  a  little  old  gentleman 
in  a  fur  tippet.  He  sat  with  his  legs  crossed  and 
his  hands  folded,  and  a  cup  of  spiced  wine  stood  by 
his  elbow  on  a  bracket  on  the  wall.  His  counte- 
nance had  a  strongly  masculine  cast;  not  properly 
human,  but  such  as  we  see  in  the  bull,  the  goat,  or 
the  domestic  boar;  something  equivocal  and  whee- 
dling, something  greedy,  brutal,  and  dangerous. 
The  upper  lip  was  inordinately  full,  as  though 
swollen  by  a  blow  or  a  toothache;  and  the  smile,  the 
peaked  eyebrows,  and  the  small,  strong  eyes  were 
quaintly  and  almost  comically  evil  in  expression. 
Beautiful  white  hair  hung  straight  all  round  his 
head,  like  a  saint's,  and  fell  in  a  single  curl  upon  the 
tippet.  His  beard  and  moustache  were  the  pink 
of  venerable  sweetness.  Age,  probably  in  conse- 
quence of  inordinate  precautions,  had  left  no  mark 
upon  his  hands;  and  the  Maletroit  hand  was  famous. 
U 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

It  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  anything  at  once 
so  fleshly  and  so  delicate  in  design;  the  taper,  sensual 
fingers  were  like  those  of  one  of  Leonardo's  women; 
the  fork  of  the  thumb  made  a  dimpled  protuberance 
when  closed;  the  nails  were  perfectly  shaped,  and 
of  a  dead,  surprising  whiteness.  It  rendered  his 
aspect  tenfold  more  redoubtable,  that  a  man  with 
hands  like  these  should  keep  them  devoutly  folded 
in  his  lap  like  a  virgin  martyr — that  a  man  with 
so  intense  and  startling  an  expression  of  face  should 
sit  patiently  on  his  seat  and  contemplate  people 
with  an  unwinking  stare,  like  a  god  or  a  god's  statue. 
His  quiescence  seemed  ironical  and  treacherous,  it 
fitted  so  poorly  with  his  looks.  Such  was  Alain, 
Sire  de  Maletroit. 

Denis  and  he  looked  silently  at  each  other  for  a 
second  or  two. 

"Pray  step  in,"  said  the  Sure  de  Maletroit.  "I 
have  been  expecting  you  all  evening." 

He  had  not  risen,  but  he  accompanied  his  words 
with  a  smile  and  a  slight  but  courteous  inclination 
of  the  head.  Partly  from  the  smile,  partly  from 
the  strange  musical  murmur  with  which  the  Sir 
prefaced  his  observation,  Denis  felt  a  strong  shudder 
of  disgust  go  through  his  marrow.  And  what  with 
disgust  and  honest  confusion  of  mind,  he  could 
scarcely  get  words  together  in  reply. 

"I  fear,"  he  said,  "that  this  is  a  double  accident. 
I  am  not  the  person  you  suppose  me.  It  seems  you 
were  looking  for  a  visit;  but  for  my  part,  nothing 
12 


The  Sire  de  Maletroit's  Door 

was  further  from  my  thoughts — nothing  could  be 
more  contrary  to  my  wishes — than  this  intrusion." 

"Well,  well,"  replied  the  old  gentleman  indul- 
gently, "here  you  are,  which  is  the  main  point.  Seat 
yourself,  my  friend,  and  put  yourself  entirely  at 
your  ease.  We  shall  arrange  our  little  affairs  pres- 
ently." 

Denis  perceived  that  the  matter  was  still  compli- 
cated with  some  misconception,  and  he  hastened  to 
continue  his  explanations. 

"Your  door  .  .  ."  he  began. 

"About  my  door?"  asked  the  other,  raising  his 
peaked  eyebrows.  "A  little  piece  of  ingenuity." 
And  he  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "A  hospitable 
fancy!  By  your  own  account,  you  were  not  desirous 
of  making  my  acquaintance.  We  old  people  look 
for  such  reluctance  now  and  then;  and  when  it 
touches  our  honour,  we  cast  about  until  we  find  some 
way  of  overcoming  it.  You  arrive  uninvited,  but, 
believe  me,  very  welcome." 

"You  persist  in  error,  sir,"  said  Denis.  "There 
can  be  no  question  between  you  and  me.  I  am  a 
stranger  in  this  countryside.  My  name  is  Denis, 
damoiseau  de  Beaulieu.  If  you  see  me  in  your  house, 
it  is  only " 

"My  young  friend,"  interrupted  the  other,  "you 
will  permit  me  to  have  my  own  ideas  on  that  subject. 
They  probably  differ  from  yours  at  the  present 
moment,"  he  added  with  a  leer,  "but  time  will  show 
which  of  us  is  in  the  right." 
13 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

Denis  was  convinced  he  had  to  do  with  a  lunatic- 
He  seated  himself  with  a  shrug,  content  to  wait  the 
upshot;  and  a  pause  ensued,  during  which  he  thought 
he  could  distinguish  a  hurried  gabbling  as  of  prayer 
from  behind  the  arras  immediately  opposite  him. 
Sometimes  there  seemed  to  be  but  one  person  en- 
gaged, sometimes  two;  and  the  vehemence  of  the 
voice,  low  as  it  was,  seemed  to  indicate  either  great 
haste  or  an  agony  of  spirit.  It  occurred  to  him  that 
this  piece  of  tapestry  covered  the  entrance  to  the 
chapel  he  had  noticed  from  without. 

The  old  gentleman  meanwhile  surveyed  Denis 
from  head  to  foot  with  a  smile,  and  from  time  to 
time  emitted  little  noises  like  a  bird  or  a  mouse, 
which  seemed  to  indicate  a  high  degree  of  satisfac- 
tion. This  state  of  matters  became  rapidly  insup- 
portable; and  Denis,  to  put  an  end  to  it,  remarked 
politely  that  the  wind  had  gone  down. 

The  old  gentleman  fell  into  a  fit  of  silent  laughter, 
so  prolonged  and  violent  that  he  became  quite  red 
in  the  face.  Denis  got  upon  his  feet  at  once,  and 
put  on  his  hat  with  a  flourish. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  "if  you  are  in  your  wits,  you  have 
affronted  me  grossly.  If  you  are  out  of  them,  I 
flatter  myself  I  can  find  better  employment  for  my 
brains  than  to  talk  with  lunatics.  My  conscience 
is  clear;  you  have  made  a  fool  of  me  from  the  first 
moment;  you  have  refused  to  hear  my  explanations; 
and  now  there  is  no  power  under  God  will  make  me 
stay  here  any  longer;  and  if  I  cannot  make  my  way 
14 


The  Sire  de  Maletroit's  Door 

out  in  a  more  decent  fashion,  I  will  hack  your  door 
in  pieces  with  my  sword." 

The  Sire  de  Maletroit  raised  his  right  hand  and 
wagged  it  at  Denis  with  the  fore  and  little  fingers 
extended. 

"My  dear  nephew,"  he  said,  "sit  down." 

"Nephew!"  retorted  Denis,  "you  lie  in  your 
throat;"  and  he  snapped  his  fingers  in  his  face. 

"Sit  down,  you  rogue!"  cried  the  old  gentleman, 
in  a  sudden,  harsh  voice,  like  the  barking  of  a  dog. 
"Do  you  fancy,"  he  went  on,  "that  when  I  had 
made  my  little  contrivance  for  the  door,  I  had 
stopped  short  with  that?  If  you  prefer  to  be  bound 
hand  and  foot  till  your  bones  ache,  rise  and  try  to 
go  away.  If  you  choose  to  remain  a  free  young  buck, 
agreeably  conversing  with  an  old  gentleman — why, 
sit  where  you  are  in  peace,  and  God  be  with  you." 

"Do  you  mean  I  am  a  prisoner?"  demanded  Denis. 

"I  state  the  facts,"  replied  the  other.  "I  would 
rather  leave  the  conclusion  to  yourself." 

Denis  sat  down  again.  Externally  he  managed  to 
keep  pretty  calm;  but  within,  he  was  now  boiling 
with  anger,  now  chilled  with  apprehension.  He  no 
longer  felt  convinced  that  he  was  dealing  with  a  mad- 
man. And  if  the  old  gentleman  was  sane,  what,  in 
God's  name,  had  he  to  look  for?  What  absurd  or 
tragical  adventure  had  befallen  him?  What  counte- 
nance was  he  to  assume? 

While  he  was  thus  unpleasantly  reflecting,  the 
arras  that  overhung  the  chapel  door  was  raised,  and 
15 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

a  tall  priest  in  his  robes  came  forth  and,  giving  a 
long,  keen  stare  at  Denis,  said  something  in  an  un- 
dertone to  the  Sire  de  Maletroit. 

"She  is  in  a  better  frame  of  spirit?"  asked  the 
latter. 

"She  is  more  resigned,  messire,"  replied  the 
priest.' 

"Now  the  Lord  help  her,  she  is  hard  to  please!" 
sneered  the  old  gentleman.  "A  likely  stripling — > 
not  ill-born — and  of  her  own  choosing,  too?  Why, 
what  more  would  the  jade  have?" 

"The  situation  is  not  usual  for  a  young  damsel," 
said  the  other,  "and  somewhat  trying  to  her  blushes." 

"She  should  have  thought  of  that  before  she  began 
the  dance?  It  was  none  of  my  choosing,  God  knows 
that:  but  since  she  is  in  it,  by  our  lady,  she  shall 
carry  it  to  an  end."  And  then  addressing  Denis, 
"Monsieur  de  Beaulieu,"  he  asked,  "may  I  present 
you  to  my  niece?  She  has  been  waiting  your 
arrival,  I  may  say,  with  even  greater  impatience 
than  myself." 

Denis  had  resigned  himself  with  a  good  grace — 
all  he  desired  was  to  know  the  worst  of  it  as  speedily 
as  possible;  so  he  rose  at  once,  and  bowed  in  acquies- 
cence. The  Sire  de  Maletroit  followed  his  example 
and  limped,  with  the  assistance  of  the  chaplain's 
arm,  toward  the  chapel-door.  The  priest  pulled 
aside  the  arras,  and  all  three  entered.  The  building 
had  considerable  architectural  pretensions.  A  light 
groining  sprang  from  six  stout  columns,  and  hung 
16 


The  Sire  de  Maletroit's  Door 

down  in  two  rich  pendants  from  the  centre  of  the 
vault.  The  place  terminated  behind  the  altar  in  a 
round  end,  embossed  and  honey-combed  with  a 
superfluity  of  ornament  in  relief,  and  pierced  by 
many  .little  windows  shaped  like  stars,  trefoils,  or 
wheels.  These  windows  were  imperfectly  glazed, 
so  that  the  night  air  circulated  freely  in  the  chapel. 
The  tapers,  of  which  there  must  have  been  half  a 
hundred  burning  on  the  altar,  were  unmercifully 
blown  about;  and  the  light  went  through  many 
different  phases  of  brilliancy  and  semi-eclipse.  On 
the  steps  in  front  of  the  altar  knelt  a  young  girl  richly 
attired  as  a  bride.  A  chill  settled  over  Denis  as  he 
observed  her  costume;  he  fought  with  desperate 
energy  against  the  conclusion  that  was  being  thrust 
upon  his  mind;  it  could  not — it  should  not — be  as  he 
feared. 

"Blanche,"  said  the  Sire,  in  his  most  flute-like 
tones,  "  I  have  brought  a  friend  to  see  you,  my  little 
girl;  turn  round  and  give  him  your  pretty  hand.  It 
is  good  to  be  devout;  but  it  is  necessary  to  be  polite, 
my  niece." 

The  girl  rose  to  her  feet  and  turned  toward  the 
newcomers.  She  moved  all  of  a  piece;  and  shame 
and  exhaustion  were  expressed  in  every  line  of  her 
fresh  young  body;  and  she  held  her  head  down  and 
kept  her  eyes  upon  the  pavement,  as  she  came  slowly 
forward.  In  the  course  of  her  advance,  her  eyes  fell 
upon  Denis  de  Beaulieu's  feet — feet  of  which  he  was 
justly  vain,  be  it  remarked,  and  wore  in  the  most 
17 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

elegant  accoutrement  even  while  travelling.  She 
paused — started,  as  if  his  yellow  boots  had  conveyed 
some  shocking  meaning — and  glanced  suddenly  up 
into  the  wearer's  countenance.  Their  eyes  met; 
shame  gave  place  to  horror  and  terror  in  her  looks; 
the  blood  left  her  lips;  with  a  piercing  scream  she 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  sank  upon  the 
chapel-floor. 

"That  is  not  the  man!"  she  cried.  "My  uncle, 
that  is  not  the  man!" 

The  Sire  de  Maletroit  chirped  agreeably.  "Of 
course  not,"  he  said,  "I  expected  as  much.  It  was 
so  unfortunate  you  could  not  remember  his  name." 

"Indeed,"  she  cried,  "indeed,  I  have  never  seen 
this  person  till  this  moment — I  have  never  so  much 
as  set  eyes  upon  him — I  never  wish  to  see  him  again. 
Sir,"  she  said,  turning  to  Denis,  "if  you  are  a  gentle- 
man, you  will  bear  me  out.  Have  I  ever  seen  you — 
have  you  ever  seen  me — before  this  accursed  hour?" 

"To  speak  for  myself,  I  have  never  had  that 
pleasure,"  answered  the  young  man.  "This  is  the 
first  tune,  messire,  that  I  have  met  with  your  engag- 
ing niece." 

The  old  gentleman  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  am  distressed  to  hear  it,"  he  said.  "But  it  is 
never  too  late  to  begin.  I  had  little  more  acquaint- 
ance with  my  own  late  lady  ere  I  married  her;  which 
proves,"  he  added  with  a  grimace,  "that  these  im- 
promptu marriages  may  often  produce  an  excellent 
understanding  hi  the  long  run.  As  the  bridegroom 
18 


The  Sire  de  Male"troit's  Door 

is  to  have  a  voice  in  the  matter,  I  will  give  him  two 
hours  to  make  up  for  lost  time  before  we  proceed 
with  the  ceremony."  And  he  turned  toward  the 
door,  followed  by  the  clergyman. 

The  girl  was  on  her  feet  in  a  moment.  "My 
uncle,  you  cannot  be  in  earnest,"  she  said.  "I  de- 
clare before  God  I  will  stab  myself  rather  than  be 
forced  on  that  young  man.  The  heart  rises  at  it; 
God  forbids  such  marriages;  you  dishonour  your 
white  hair.  Oh,  my  uncle,  pity  me!  There  is  not  a 
woman  in  all  the  world  but  would  prefer  death  to 
such  a  nuptial.  Is  it  possible,"  she  added,  faltering 
— "is  it  possible  that  you  do  not  believe  me — that 
you  still  think  this" — and  she  pointed  at  Denis  with 
a  tremor  of  anger  and  contempt — "that  you  still 
think  this  to  be  the  man?" 

"Frankly,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  pausing  on 
the  threshold,  "I  do.  But  let  me  explain  to  you 
once  for  all,  Blanche  de  Mal6troit,  my  way  of  think- 
ing about  this  affair.  When  you  took  it  into  your 
head  to  dishonour  my  family  and  the  name  that  I 
have  borne,  in  peace  and  war,  for  more  than  three- 
score years,  you  forfeited,  not  only  the  right  to  ques- 
tion my  designs,  but  that  of  looking  me  in  the  face. 
If  your  father  had  been  alive,  he  would  have  spat 
on  you  and  turned  you  out  of  doors.  His  was  the 
hand  of  iron.  You  may  bless  your  God  you  have 
only  to  deal  with  the  hand  of  velvet,  mademoiselle. 
It  was  my  duty  to  get  you  married  without  delay. 
Out  of  pure  goodwill,  I  have  tried  to  find  your  ow* 
19 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

gallant  for  you.  And  I  believe  I  have  succeeded. 
But  before  God  and  all  the  hoi}'  angels,  Blanche  de 
Maletroit,  if  I  have  not,  I  care  not  one  jack-straw. 
So  let  me  recommend  you  to  be  polite  to  our  young 
friend;  for  upon  my  word,  your  next  groom  may  be 
less  appetising." 

And  with  that  he  went  out,  with  the  chaplain  at 
his  heels;  and  the  arras  fell  behind  the  pair. 

The  girl  turned  upon  Denis  with  flashing  eyes. 

"And  what,  sir,"  she  demanded,  "may  be  the 
meaning  of  all  this?" 

"God  knows,"  returned  Denis  gloomily.  "I  am 
a  prisoner  in  this  house,  which  seems  full  of  mad 
people.  More  I  know  not;  and  nothing  do  I  under- 
stand." 

"And  pray  how  came  you  here?"  she  asked. 

He  told  her  as  briefly  as  he  could.  "For  the  rest," 
he  added,  "perhaps  you  will  follow  my  example,  and 
tell  me  the  answer  to  all  these  riddles,  and  what,  in 
God's  name,  is  like  to  be  the  end  of  it." 

She  stood  silent  for  a  little,  and  he  could  see  her 
lips  tremble  and  her  tearless  eyes  burn  with  a  fever- 
ish lustre.  Then  she  pressed  her  forehead  in  both 
hands. 

"Alas,  how  my  head  aches!"  she  said  wearily — 
"to  say  nothing  of  my  poor  heart!  But  it  is  due  to 
you  to  know  my  story,  unmaidenly  as  it  must  seem. 
I  am  called  Blanche  de  Maletreit;  I  have  been  with- 
out father  or  mother  for — oh!  for  as  long  as  I  can 
recollect,  and  indeed  I  have  been  most  unhappy  all 
20 


The  Sire  de  Male"troit's  Door 

my  life.  Three  months  ago  a  young  captain  began 
to  stand  near  me  every  day  in  church.  I  could  see 
that  I  pleased  him ;  I  am  afraid  I  am  silly,  but  I  was 
so  glad  that  any  one  should  love  me;  and  when  he 
passed  me  a  letter,  I  took  it  home  with  me  and  read 
it  with  great  pleasure.  Since  that  time  he  has 
written  many.  He  was  so  anxious  to  speak  with 
me,  poor  fellow!  and  kept  asking  me  to  leave  the 
door  open  some  evening  that  we  might  have  two 
words  upon  the  stair.  For  he  knew  how  much  my 
uncle  trusted  me."  She  gave  something  like  a  sob 
at  that,  and  it  was  a  moment  before  she  could  go 
on.  "My  uncle  is  a  hard  man,  but  he  is  very 
shrewd,"  she  said  at  last.  "He  has  performed 
many  feats  in  war,  and  was  a  great  person  at  court, 
and  much  trusted  by  Queen  Isabeau  in  old  days. 
How  he  came  to  suspect  me  I  cannot  tell;  but  it  is 
hard  to  keep  anything  from  his  knowledge;  and  this 
morning,  as  we  came  from  mass,  he  took  my  hand 
in  his,  forced  it  open,  and  read  my  little  billet,  walk- 
ing by  my  side  all  the  while.  When  he  had  finished, 
he  gave  it  back  to  me  with  great  politeness.  It 
contained  another  request  to  have  the  door  left 
open;  and  this  has  been  the  ruin  of  us  all.  My 
uncle  kept  me  strictly  in  my  room  until  evening, 
and  then  ordered  me  to  dress  myself  as  you  see  me — 
a  hard  mockery  for  a  young  girl,  do  you  not  think 
so?  I  suppose,  when  he  could  not  prevail  with  me 
to  tell  him  the  young  captain's  name,  he  must  have 
laid  a  trap  for  him:  into  which,  alas!  you  have  fallen 
21 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

in  the  anger  of  God.  I  looked  for  much  confusion; 
for  how  could  I  tell  whether  he  was  willing  to  take 
me  for  his  wife  on  these  sharp  terms?  He  might 
have  been  trifling  with  me  from  the  first;  or  I  might 
have  made  myself  too  cheap  in  his  eyes.  But  truly 
I  had  not  looked  for  such  a  shameful  punishment 
as  this!  I  could  not  think  that  God  would  let  a 
girl  be  so  disgraced  before  a  young  man.  And  now 
I  have  told  you  all,  as  I  am  true-born;  although  I 
can  scarcely  hope  that  you  will  believe  me,  since  I 
fear  that  my  own  uncle  does  not." 

Denis  made  her  a  respectful  inclination. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  "you  have  honoured  me  by 
your  confidence.  It  remains  for  me  to  prove  that 
I  am  not  unworthy  of  the  honour.  Is  Messire  de 
Male"troitathand?" 

"I  believe  he  is  writing  in  the  salle  without,"  she 
answered. 

"May  I  lead  you  thither,  madam?"  asked  Denis, 
offering  his  hand  with  his  most  courtly  bearing. 

She  accepted  it;  and  the  pair  passed  out  of  the 
chapel,  Blanche  in  a  very  drooping  and  shamefaced 
condition,  but  Denis  strutting  and  ruffling  in  the 
consciousness  of  a  mission,  and  the  boyish  certainty 
of  accomplishing  it  with  honour. 

The  Sire  de  Maletroit  rose  to  meet  them  with  an 
ironical  obeisance. 

"Sir,"  said  Denis,  with  the  grandest  possible  air, 
"I  believe  I  am  to  have  some  say  in  the  matter  of 
this  marriage;  and  let  me  tell  you  at  once,  I  will  be 
22 


The  Sire  de  Maletroit's  Door 

no  party  to  forcing  the  inclination  of  this  young 
lady.  Had  it  been  freely  offered  to  me,  I  should 
have  been  proud  to  accept  her  hand,  for  I  perceive 
she  is  as  good  as  she  is  beautiful;  but  as  things  are, 
I  have  now  the  honour,  messire,  of  refusing." 

Blanche  looked  at  him  with  gratitude  in  her  eyes; 
but  the  old  gentleman  only  smiled  and  smiled,  until 
his  smile  grew  positively  sickening  to  Denis. 

"I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  "Monsieur  de  Beaulieu, 
that  you  do  not  perfectly  understand  the  choice  I 
have  to  offer  you.  Follow  me,  I  beseech  you,  to 
this  window."  And  he  led  the  way  to  one  of  the 
large  windows  which  stood  open  on  the  night. 
"You  observe,"  he  went  on,  "there  is  an  iron  ring 
in  the  upper  masonry,  and  reeved  through  that,  a 
very  efficacious  rope.  Now,  mark  my  words:  if 
you  should  find  your  disinclination  to  my  niece's 
person  insurmountable,  I  shall  have  you  hanged  out 
of  this  window  before  sunrise.  I  shall  only  proceed 
to  such  an  extremity ;  with  the  greatest  regret,  you 
may  believe  me.  For  it  is  not  at  all  your  death  that 
I  desire,  but  my  niece's  establishment  in  life.  At 
the  same  time,  it  must  come  to  that  if  you  prove 
obstinate.  Your  family,  Monsieur  de  Beaulieu,  is 
very  well  in  its  way;  but  if  you  sprang  from  Charle- 
magne, you  should  not  refuse  the  hand  of  a  Male- 
troit  with  impunity — not  if  she  had  been  as  common 
as  the  Paris  road — not  if  she  were  as  hideous  as  the 
gargoyle  over  my  door.  Neither  my  niece  nor  you, 
nor  my  own  private  feelings,  move  me  at  all  in  this 
23 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

matter.  The  honour  of  my  house  has  been  com- 
promised; I  believe  you  to  be  the  guilty  person;  at 
least  you  are  now  in  the  secret;  and  you  can  hardly 
wonder  if  I  request  you  to  wipe  out  the  stain.  If 
you  will  not,  your  blood  be  on  your  own  head!  It 
will  be  no  great  satisfaction  to  me  to  have  your 
interesting  relics  kicking  their  heels  in  the  breeze 
below  my  windows;  but  half  a  loaf  is  better  than  no 
bread,  and  if  I  cannot  cure  the  dishonour,  I  shall  at 
least  stop  the  scandal." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"I  believe  there  are  other  ways  of  settling  such 
imbroglios  among  gentlemen,"  said  Denis.  "You 
wear  a  sword,  and  I  hear  you  have  used  it  with 
distinction." 

The  Sire  de  Maletroit  made  a  signal  to  the  chap- 
lain, who  crossed  the  room  with  long  silent  strides 
and  raised  the  arras  over  the  third  of  the  three  doors. 
It  was  only  a  moment  before  he  let  it  fall  again;  but 
Denis  had  time  to  see  a  dusky  passage  full  of  armed 
men. 

"When  I  was  a  little  younger,  I  should  have  been 
delighted  to  honour  you,  Monsieur  de  Beaulieu," 
said  Sire  Alain;  "but  I  am  now  too  old.  Faithful 
retainers  are  the  sinews  of  age,  and  I  must  employ 
the  strength  I  have.  This  is  one  of  the  hardest 
things  to  swallow  as  a  man  grows  up  in  years;  but 
with  a  little  patience,  even  this  becomes  habitual. 
You  and  the  lady  seem  to  prefer  the  salle  for  what 
remains  of  your  two  hours;  and  as  I  have  no  desire 
24 


The  Sire  de  Maletroit's  Door 

to  cross  your  preference,  I  shall  resign  it  to  your  use 
with  all  the  pleasure  in  the  world.  No  haste!"  he 
added,  holding  up  his  hand,  as  he  saw  a  dangerous 
look  come  into  Denis  de  Beaulieu's  face.  "If  your 
mind  revolts  against  hanging,  it  will  be  time  enough 
two  hours  hence  to  throw  yourself  out  of  the  window 
or  upon  the  pikes  of  my  retainers.  Two  hours  of 
life  are  always  two  hours.  A  great  many  things 
may  turn  up  in  even  as  little  a  while  as  that.  And, 
besides,  if  I  understand  her  appearance,  my  niece 
has  still  something  to  say  to  you.  You  will  not 
disfigure  your  last  hours  by  a  want  of  politeness  to 
a  lady?" 

>  Denis  looked  at  Blanche,  and  she  made  him  an 
imploring  gesture. 

The  old  gentleman  was  hugely  pleased  at  this 
symptom  of  an  understanding.  "Let  us  give  them 
all  the  rope  we  can,"  he  thought;  and  then  he  con- 
tinued aloud:  "If  you  will  give  me  your  word  of 
honour,  Monsieur  de  Beaulieu,  to  await  my  return 
at  the  end  of  the  two  hours  before  attempting  any- 
thing desperate,  I  shall  withdraw  my  retainers,  and 
let  you  speak  in  greater  privacy  with  mademoiselle." 

Denis  again  glanced  at  the  girl,  who  seemed  to 
beseech  him  to  agree. 

"  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour, "  he  said. 

Messire  de  Maletroit  bowed,  and  proceeded  to 

limp  about  the  apartment,  clearing  his  throat  the 

while  with  that  odd  musical  chirp  which  had  already 

grown  so  irritating  in  the  ears  of  Denis  de  Beaulieu. 

25 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

He  first  possessed  himself  of  some  papers  which  lay 
upon  the  table;  then  he  went  to  the  mouth  of  the 
passage  and  appeared  to  give  an  order  to  the  men 
behind  the  arras;  and  lastly  he  hobbled  out  through 
the  door  by  which  Denis  had  come  in,  turning  upon 
the  threshold  to  address  a  last  smiling  bow  to  the 
young  couple,  and  followed  by  the  chaplain  with  a 
hand-lamp. 

No  sooner  were  they  alone  than  Blanche  ad- 
vanced toward  Denis  with  her  hands  extended. 
Her  face  was  flushed  and  excited,  and  her  eyes  shone 
with  tears. 

"You  shall  not  die!"  she  cried,  "you  shall  marry 
me  after  all." 

"You  seem  to  think,  madam,"  replied  Denis, 
"that  I  stand  much  hi  fear  of  death." 

"Oh  no,  no,"  she  said,  "I  see  you  are  no  poltroon. 
It  is  for  my  own  sake — I  could  not  bear  to  have  you 
slam  for  such  a  scruple." 

"I  am  afraid,"  returned  Denis,  "that  you 
underrate  the  difficulty,  madam.  What  you 
may  be  too  generous  to  refuse,  I  may  be  too 
proud  to  accept.  In  a  moment  of  noble  feeling 
toward  me,  you  forget  what  you  perhaps  owe 
to  others." 

He  had  the  decency  to  keep  his  eyes  upon  the  floor 
as  he  said  this,  and  after  he  had  finished,  so  as  not 
to  spy  upon  her  confusion.  She  stood  silent  for  a 
moment,  then  walked  suddenly  away,  and  sitting 
down  in  her  uncle's  chair,  fairly  burst  out  sobbing. 
26 


The  Sire  de  Maletroit's  Door 

Denis  was  in  the  acme  of  embarrassment.  He 
looked  round,  as  if  to  seek  for  inspiration,  and  see- 
ing a  stool,  plumped  down  upon  it  for  something  to 
do.  There  he  sat,  playing  with  the  guard  of  his 
rapier,  and  wishing  himself  dead  a  thousand  times 
over,  and  buried  in  the  nastiest  kitchen-heap  in 
France.  His  eyes  wandered  round  the  apartment, 
but  found  nothing  to  arrest  them.  There  were 
such  wide  spaces  between  the  furniture,  the  light 
fell  so  baldly  and  cheerlessly  over  all,  the  dark  out- 
side air  looked  in  so  coldly  through  the  windows, 
that  he  thought  he  had  never  seen  a  church  so  vast, 
nor  a  tomb  so  melancholy.  The  regular  sobs  of 
Blanche  de  Maletroit  measured  out  the  time  like  the 
ticking  of  a  clock.  He  read  the  device  upon  the 
shield  over  and  over  again,  until  his  eyes  became 
obscured;  he  stared  into  shadowy  corners  until  he 
imagined  they  were  swarming  with  horrible  animals; 
and  every  now  and  again  he  awoke  with  a  start,  to 
remember  that  his  last  two  hours  were  running,  and 
death  was  on  the  march. 

Oftener  and  oftener,  as  the  time  went  on,  did  his 
glance  settle  on  the  girl  herself.  Her  face  was 
bowed  forward  and  covered  with  her  hands,  and  she 
was  shaken  at  intervals  by  the  convulsive  hiccup  of 
grief.  Even  thus  she  was  not  an  unpleasant  object 
to  dwell  upon,  so  plump  and  yet  so  fine,  with  a  warm 
brown  skin,  and  the  most  beautiful  hair,  Denis 
thought,  in  the  whole  world  of  womankind.  Her 
hands  were  like  her  uncle's;  but  they  were  more  in 
27 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

place  at  the  end  of  her  young  arms,  and  looked 
infinitely  soft  and  caressing.  He  remembered  how 
her  blue  eyes  had  shone  upon  him,  full  of  anger, 
pity,  and  innocence.  And  the  more  he  dwelt  on  her 
perfections,  the  uglier  death  looked,  and  the  more 
deeply  was  he  smitten  with  penitence  at  her  con- 
tinued tears.  Now  he  felt  that  no  man  could  have 
the  courage  to  leave  a  world  which  contained  so 
beautiful  a  creature;  and  now  he  would  have  given 
forty  minutes  of  his  last  hour  to  have  unsaid  his 
cruel  speech. 

Suddenly  a  hoarse  and  ragged  peal  of  cockcrow 
rose  to  their  ears  from  the  dark  valley  below  the 
windows.  And  this  shattering  noise  in  the  silence 
of  all  around  was  like  a  light  in  a  dark  place,  and 
shook  them  both  out  of  their  reflections. 

"Alas,  can  I  do  nothing  to  help  you?"  she  said, 
looking  up. 

"Madam,"  replied  Denis,  with  a  fine  irrelevancy, 
"if  I  have  said  anything  to  wound  you,  believe  me, 
it  was  for  your  own  sake  and  not  for  mine." 

She  thanked  him  with  a  tearful  look. 

"I  feel  your  position  cruelly, "  he  went  on.  "The 
world  has  been  bitter  hard  on  you.  Your  uncle  is  a 
disgrace  to  mankind.  Believe  me,  madam,  there  is 
no  young  gentleman  in  all  France  but  would  be 
glad  of  my  opportunity,  to  die  in  doing  you  a  mo- 
mentary service." 

"I  know  already  that  you  can  be  very  brave  and 
generous,"  she  answered.  "What  I  want  to  know 
28 


The  Sire  de  Maletroit's  Door 

is  whether  I  can  serve  you — now  or  afterward," 
she  added,  with  a  quaver. 

"Most  certainly,"  he  answered  with  a  smile. 
"Let  me  sit  beside  you  as  if  I  were  a  friend,  instead 
of  a  foolish  intruder;  try  to  forget  how  awkwardly  we 
are  placed  to  one  another;  make  my  last  moments 
go  pleasantly;  and  you  will  do  me  the  chief  service 
possible." 

"You  are  very  gallant,"  she  added,  with  a  yet 
deeper  sadness  .  .  .  "very  gallant  .  .  . 
and  it  somehow  pains  me.  But  draw  nearer,  if 
you  please;  and  if  you  find  anything  to  say  to  me, 
you  will  at  least  make  certain  of  a  very  friendly 
listener.  Ah!  Monsieur  de  Beaulieu,"  she  broke 
forth — "ah!  Monsieur  de  Beaulieu,  how  can  I  look 
you  in  the  face?"  And  she  fell  to  weeping  again 
with  a  renewed  effusion. 

"Madam,"  said  Denis,  taking  her  hand  in  both 
of  his,  "reflect  on  the  little  time  I  have  before  me, 
and  the  great  bitterness  into  which  I  am  cast  by 
the  sight  of  your  distress.  Spare  me,  in  my  last 
moments,  the  spectacle  of  what  I  cannot  cure  even 
with  the  sacrifice  of  my  life." 

"I  am  very  selfish,"  answered  Blanche.  "I  will 
be  braver,  Monsieur  de  Beaulieu,  for  your  sake. 
But  think  if  I  can  do  you  no  kindness  in  the 
future — if  you  have  no  friends  to  whom  I  could 
carry  your  adieux.  Charge  me  as  heavily  as 
you  can;  every  burden  will  lighten,  by  so  little, 
the  invaluable  gratitude  I  owe  you.  Put  it  in 
29 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

my  power  to  do  something  more  for  you   than 
weep." 

"My  mother  is  married  again,  and  has  a  young 
family  to  care  for.  My  brother  Guichard  will  in- 
herit my  fiefs;  and  if  I  am  not  in  error,  that  will 
content  him  amply  for  my  death.  Life  is  a  little 
vapour  that  passeth  away,  as  we  are  told  by  those 
in  holy  orders.  When  a  man  is  in  a  fair  way  and 
sees  all  life  open  in  front  of  him,  he  seems  to  himself 
to  make  a  very  important  figure  in  the  world.  His 
horse  whinnies  to  him;  the  trumpets  blow  and  the 
girls  look  out  of  windows  as  he  rides  into  a  town 
before  his  company;  he  receives  many  assurances  of 
trust  and  regard — sometimes  by  express  in  a  letter — 
sometimes  face  to  face,  with  persons  of  great  conse- 
quence falling  on  his  neck.  It  is  not  wonderful  if 
his  head  is  turned  for  a  time.  But  once  he  is  dead, 
were  he  as  brave  as  Hercules  or  as  wise  as  Solomon, 
he  is  soon  forgotten.  It  is  not  ten  years  since  my 
father  fell,  with  many  other  knights  around  him,  in  a 
very  fierce  encounter,  and  I  do  not  think  that  any 
one  of  them,  nor  so  much  as  the  name  of  the  fight, 
is  now  remembered.  No,  no,  madam,  the  nearer 
you  come  to  it,  you  see  that  death  is  a  dark  and 
dusty  corner,  where  a  man  gets  into  his  tomb  and 
has  the  door  shut  after  him  till  the  judgment  day. 
I  have  few  friends  just  now,  and  once  I  am  dead  I 
shall  have  none." 

"Ah,  Monsieur  de  Beaulieu!"  she  exclaimed,  "you 
forget  Blanche  de  Maletroit." 
30 


The  Sire  de  Maletroit's  Door 

"You  have  a  sweet  nature,  madam,  and  you  are 
pleased  to  estimate  a  little  service  far  beyond  its 
worth." 

"It  is  not  that,"  she  answered.  "You  mistake 
me  if  you  think  I  am  so  easily  touched  by  my  own 
concerns.  I  say  so,  because  you  are  the  noblest  man 
I  have  ever  met;  because  I  recognize  in  you  a  spirit 
that  would  have  made  even  a  common  person 
famous  in  the  land." 

"And  yet  here  I  die  in  a  mousetrap — with  no  more 
noise  about  it  than  my  own  squeaking,"  answered  he. 

A  look  of  pain  crossed  her  face,  and  she  was  silent 
for  a  little  while.  Then  a  light  came  into  her  eyes, 
and  with  a  smile  she  spoke  again. 

"I  cannot  have  my  champion  think  meanly  of 
himself.  Anyone  who  gives  his  life  for  another  will 
be  met  in  Paradise  by  all  the  heralds  and  angels  of 
the  Lord  God.  And  you  have  no  such  cause  to  hang 
your  head.  For  .  .  .  Pray,  do  you  think  me  beau- 
tiful?" she  asked,  with  a  deep  flush. 

"Indeed,  madam,  I  do,"  he  said. 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  she  answered  heartily.  "Do 
you  think  there  are  many  men  in  France  who  have 
been  asked  in  marriage  by  a  beautiful  maiden — with 
her  own  lips — and  who  have  refused  her  to  her  face? 
I  know  you  men  would  half  despise  such  a  triumph; 
but  believe  me,  we  women  know  more  of  what  is 
precious  in  love.  There  is  nothing  that  should  set 
a  person  higher  in  his  own  esteem;  and  we  women 
would  prize  nothing  more  dearly." 
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Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

"You  are  very  good,"  he  said;  "but  you  cannot 
make  me  forget  that  I  was  asked  in  pity  and  not  for 
love." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  she  replied,  holding 
down  her  head.  "Hear  me  to  an  end,  Monsieur  de 
Beaulieu.  I  know  how  you  must  despise  me;  I  feel 
you  are  right  to  do  so;  I  am  too  poor  a  creature  to 
occupy  one  thought  of  your  mind,  although,  alas! 
you  must  die  for  me  this  morning.  But  when  I  asked 
you  to  marry  me,  indeed,  and  indeed,  it  was  because 
I  respected  and  admired  you,  and  loved  you  with 
my  whole  soul,  from  the  very  moment  that  you  took 
my  part  against  my  uncle.  If  you  had  seen  yourself, 
and  how  noble  you  looked,  you  would  pity  rather 
than  despise  me.  And  now,"  she  went  on,  hurriedly 
checking  him  with  her  hand,  "although  I  have  laid 
aside  all  reserve  and  told  you  so  much,  remember 
that  I  know  your  sentiments  toward  me  already. 
I  would  not,  believe  me,  being  nobly  born,  weary 
you  with  importunities  into  consent.  I,  too,  have 
a  pride  of  my  own;  and  I  declare  before  the 
holy  mother  of  God,  if  you  should  now  go 
back  from  your  word  already  given,  I  would  no 
more  marry  you  than  I  would  marry  my  uncle's 
groom." 

Denis  smiled  a  little  bitterly. 

"It  is  a  small  love,"  he  said,  "that  shies  at  a  little 
pride." 

She  made  no  answer,  although  she  probably  had 
her  own  thoughts. 

32 


The  Sire  de  Maletroit's  Door 

"Come  hither  to  the  window,"  he  said,  with  a 
sigh.  "Here  is  the  dawn." 

And  indeed  the  dawn  was  already  beginning.  The 
hollow  of  the  sky  was  full  of  essential  daylight, 
colourless  and  clean;  and  the  valley  underneath  was 
flooded  with  a  grey  reflection.  A  few  thin  vapours 
clung  in  the  coves  of  the  forest  or  lay  along  the  wind- 
ing course  of  the  river.  The  scene  disengaged  a  sur- 
prising effect  of  stillness,  which  was  hardly  inter- 
rupted when  the  cocks  began  once  more  to  crow 
among  the  steadings.  Perhaps  the  same  fellow  who 
had  made  so  horrid  a  clangour  in  the  darkness  not 
half  an  hour  before,  now  sent  up  the  merriest  cheer 
to  greet  the  coming  day.  A  little  wind  went  bustling 
and  eddying  among  the  tree-tops  underneath  the 
windows.  And  still  the  daylight  kept  flooding  in- 
sensibly out  of  the  east,  which  was  soon  to  grow  in- 
candescent and  cast  up  that  red-hot  cannon-ball, 
the  rising  sun. 

Denis  looked  out  over  all  this  with  a  bit  of  a  shiver. 
He  had  taken  her  hand,  and  retained  it  in  his  almost 
unconsciously. 

"Has  the  day  begun  already?"  she  said;  and  then, 
illogically  enough:  "The  night  has  been  so  long! 
Alas!  what  shall  we  say  to  my  uncle  when  he  re- 
turns?" 

"What  you  will,"  said  Denis,  and  he  pressed  her 
fingers  in  his.  She  was  silent. 

"Blanche,"  he  said,  with  a  swift,  uncertain,  pas- 
sionate utterance,  "you  have  seen  whether  I  fear 
33 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

death.  You  must  know  well  enough  that  I  would 
as  gladly  leap  out  of  that  window  into  the  empty  air 
as  lay  a  finger  on  you  without  your  free  and  full 
consent.  But  if  you  care  for  me  at  all  do  not  let  me 
lose  my  life  in  a  misapprehension;  for  I  love  you 
better  than  the  whole  world;  and  though  I  will  die 
for  you  blithely,  it  would  be  like  all  the  joys  of  Para- 
dise to  live  on  and  spend  my  life  in  your  service." 

As  he  stopped  speaking,  a  bell  began  to  ring  loudly 
in  the  interior  of  the  house;  and  a  clatter  of  armour 
in  the  corridor  showed  that  the  retainers  were 
returning  to  their  post,  and  the  two  hours  were  at 
an  end. 

"After  all  that  you  have  heard?"  she  whispered, 
leaning  toward  him  with  her  lips  and  eyes. 

"I  have  heard  nothing,"  he  replied. 

"The  captain's  name  was  Florimond  de  Champ- 
divers,"  she  said  in  his  ear. 

"I  did  not  hear  it,"  he  answered,  taking  her  supple 
body  in  his  arms  and  covering  her  wet  face  with 
kisses. 

A  melodious  chirping  was  audible  behind,  fol- 
lowed by  a  beautiful  chuckle,  and  the  voice  of 
Messire  de  Maletroit  wished  his  new  nephew  a  good 
morning. 


34 


II 

A   DOUBLE-DYED    DECEIVER 
O.  HENRY 

THE  trouble  began  in  Laredo.  It  was  the 
Llano  Kid's  fault,  for  he  should  have  con- 
fined his  habit  of  manslaughter  to  Mexicans. 
But  the  Kid  was  past  twenty;  and  to  have  only 
Mexicans  to  one's  credit  at  twenty  is  to  blush  unseen 
on  the  Rio  Grande  border. 

It  happened  in  old  Justo  Valdo's  gambling  house. 
There  was  a  poker  game  at  which  sat  players  who 
were  not  all  friends,  as  happens  often  where  men 
ride  in  from  afar  to  shoot  Folly  as  she  gallops.  There 
was  a  row  over  so  small  a  matter  as  a  pair  of  queens; 
and  when  the  smoke  had  cleared  away  it  was  found 
that  the  Kid  had  committed  an  indiscretion,  and  his 
adversary  had  been  guilty  of  a  blunder.  For,  the 
unfortunate  combatant,  instead  of  being  a  Greaser, 
was  a  high-blooded  youth  from  the  cow  ranches,  of 
about  the  Kid's  own  age  and  possessed  of  friends  and 
champions.  His  blunder  in  missing  the  Kid's  right 
ear  only  a  sixteenth  of  an  inch  when  he  pulled  his  gun 
did  not  lessen  the  indiscretion  of  the  better  marks- 
man. 

The  Kid,  not  being  equipped  with  a  retinue,  nor 
35 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

bountifully  supplied  with  personal  admirers  and 
supporters — on  account  of  a  rather  umbrageous 
reputation,  even  for  the  border — considered  it  not 
incompatible  with  his  indisputable  gameness  to  per- 
form that  judicious  tractional  act  known  as  "pulling 
his  freight." 

Quickly  the  avengers  gathered  and  sought  him. 
Three  of  them  overtook  him  within  a  rod  of  the 
station.  The  Kid  turned  and  showed  his  teeth  in 
that  brilliant  but  mirthless  smile  that  usually  pre- 
ceded his  deeds  of  insolence  and  violence,  and  his 
pursuers  fell  back  without  making  it  necessary  for 
him  even  to  reach  for  his  weapon. 

But  in  this  affair  the  Kid  had  not  felt  the  grim 
thirst  for  encounter  that  usually  urged  him  on  to 
battle.  It  had  been  a  purely  chance  row,  born  of  the 
cards  and  certain  epithets  impossible  for  a  gentleman 
to  brook  that  had  passed  between  the  two.  The  Kid 
had  rather  liked  the  slim,  haughty,  brown-faced 
young  chap  whom  his  bullet  had  cut  off  in  the  first 
pride  of  manhood.  And  now  he  wanted  no  more 
blood.  He  wanted  to  get  away  and  have  a  good  long 
sleep  somewhere  in  the  sun  on  the  mesquit  grass  with 
his  handkerchief  over  his  face.  Even  a  Mexican 
might  have  crossed  his  path  in  safety  while  he  was 
in  this  mood. 

The  Kid  openly  boarded  the  north-bound  pas- 
senger train  that  departed  five  minutes  later.  But 
at  Webb,  a  few  miles  out,  where  it  was  flagged  to 
take  on  a  traveller,  he  abandoned  that  manner  of 
36 


A  Double-Dyed  Deceiver 

escape.  There  were  telegraph  stations  ahead;  and 
the  Kid  looked  askance  at  electricity  and  steam. 
Saddle  and  spur  were  his  rocks  of  safety. 

The  man  whom  he  had  shot  was  a  stranger  to  him. 
But  the  Kid  knew  that  he  was  of  the  Coralitos  outfit 
from  Hidalgo;  and  that  the  punchers  from  that 
ranch  were  more  relentless  and  vengeful  than  Ken- 
tucky feudists  when  wrong  or  harm  was  done  to  one 
of  them.  So,  with  the  wisdom  that  has  characterized 
many  great  fighters,  the  Kid  decided  to  pile  up  as 
many  leagues  as  possible  of  chaparral  and  pear  be- 
tween himself  and  the  retaliation  of  the  Coralitos 
bunch. 

Near  the  station  was  a  store;  and  near  the  store, 
scattered  among  the  mesquits  and  elms,  stood  the 
saddled  horses  of  the  customers.  Most  of  them 
waited,  half  asleep,  with  sagging  limbs  and  drooping 
heads.  But  one,  a  long-legged  roan  with  a  curved 
neck,  snorted  and  pawed  the  turf.  Him  the  Kid 
mounted,  gripped  with  his  knees,  and  slapped  gently 
with  the  owner's  own  quirt. 

If  the  slaying  of  the  temerarious  card-player  had 
cast  a  cloud  over  the  Kid's  standing  as  a  good  and 
true  citizen,  this  last  act  of  his  veiled  his  figure  in 
the  darkest  shadows  of  disrepute.  On  the  Rio 
Grande  border  if  you  take  a  man's  life  you  sometimes 
take  trash;  but  if  you  take  his  horse,  you  take  a 
thing  the  loss  of  which  renders  him  poor,  indeed,  and 
which  enriches  you  not — if  you  are  caught.  For  the 
Kid  there  was  no  turning  back  now. 
37 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

With  the  springing  roan  under  him  he  felt  little 
care  or  uneasiness.  After  a  five-mile  gallop  he  drew 
in  to  the  plainsman's  jogging  trot,  and  rode  north- 
eastward toward  the  Nueces  River  bottoms.  He 
knew  the  country  well — its  most  tortuous  and 
obscure  trails  through  the  great  wilderness  of  brush 
and  pear,  and  its  camps  and  lonesome  ranches  where 
one  might  find  safe  entertainment.  Always  he  bore 
to  the  east;  for  the  Kid  h?d  never  seen  the  ocean, 
and  he  had  a  fancy  to  lay  his  hand  upon  the  mane  of 
the  great  gulf,  the  gamesome  colt  of  the  greater 
waters. 

So  after  three  days  he  stood  on  the  shore  at  Corpus 
Christi,  and  looked  out  across  the  gentle  ripples  of  a 
quiet  sea. 

Captain  Boone,  of  the  schooner  Flyaway,  stood 
near  his  skiff,  which  one  of  his  crew  was  guarding  in 
the  surf.  When  ready  to  sail  he  had  discovered  that 
one  of  the  necessaries  of  life,  in  the  parallelogramma- 
tic  shape  of  plug  tobacco,  had  been  forgotten.  A 
sailor  had  been  dispatched  for  the  missing  cargo. 
Meanwhile  the  captain  paced  the  sands,  chewing 
profanely  at  his  pocket  store. 

A  slim,  wiry  youth  in  high-heeled  boots  came  down 
to  the  water's  edge.  His  face  was  boyish,  but  with 
a  premature  severity  that  hinted  at  a  man's  expe- 
rience. His  complexion  was  naturally  dark;  and  the 
sun  and  wind  of  an  outdoor  life  had  burned  it  to  a 
coffee  brown.  His  hair  was  as  black  and  straight  as 
an  Indian's;  his  face  had  not  yet  been  upturned  to 
38 


A  Double-Dyed  Deceiver 

the  humiliation  of  a  razor;  his  eyes  were  a  cold  and 
steady  blue.  He  carried  his  left  arm  somewhat  away 
from  his  body,  for  pearl-handled  .4153  are  frowned 
upon  by  town  marshals,  and  are  a  little  bulky  when 
packed  in  the  left  armhole  of  one's  vest.  He  looked 
beyond  Captain  Boone  at  the  gulf  with  the  imper- 
sonal and  expressionless  dignity  of  a  Chinese  em- 
peror. 

"Thinkin'  of  buyin'  that'ar  gulf,  buddy?"  asked 
the  captain,  made  sarcastic  by  his  narrow  escape 
from  the  tobaccoless  voyage. 

"Why,  no,"  said  the  Kid  gently,  "I  reckon  not. 
I  never  saw  it  before.  I  was  just  looking  at  it.  Not 
thinking  of  selling  it,  are  you?" 

"Not  this  trip,"  said  the  captain.  "I'll  send  it  to 
you  C.  O.  D.  when  I  get  back  to  Buenas  Tierras. 
Here  comes  that  capstanfooted  lubber  with  the 
chewin'.  I  ought  to've  weighed  anchor  an  hour 
ago." 

"Is  that  your  ship  out  there?"  asked  the  Kid. 

"Why,  yes,"  answered  the  captain,  "if  you  want 
to  call  a  schooner  a  ship,  and  I  don't  mind  lyin'.  But 
you  better  say  Miller  and  Gonzales,  owners,  and 
ordinary  plain,  Billy-be-damned  old  Samuel  K. 
Boone,  skipper." 

"Where  are  you  going  to?"  asked  the  refugee. 

"Buenas  Tierras,  coast  of  South  America — I  for- 
got what  they  called  the  country  the  last  time  I  was 
there.  Cargo — lumber,  corrugated  iron,  and  ma- 
chetes." 

39 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

"What  kind  of  a  country  is  it?"  asked  the  Kid — 
"hot  or  cold?" 

"Warmish,  buddy,"  said  the  captain.  "But  a 
regular  Paradise  Lost  for  elegance  of  scenery  and 
be-yooty  of  geography.  Ye're  wakened  every  morn- 
ing by  the  sweet  singin'  of  red  birds  with  seven  purple 
tails,  and  the  sighin'  of  breezes  in  the  posies  and 
roses.  And  the  inhabitants  never  work,  for  they  can 
reach  out  and  pick  steamer  baskets  of  choicest 
hothouse  fruit  without  gettin'  out  of  bed.  And 
there's  no  Sunday  and  no  ice  and  no  rent  and  no 
troubles  and  no  use  and  no  nothin'.  It's  a  great 
country  for  a  man  to  go  to  sleep  with,  and  wait  for 
somethin'  to  turn  up.  The  bananays  and  oranges 
and  hurricanes  and  pineapples  that  ye  eat  comes 
from  there." 

"That  sounds  to  me!"  said  the  Kid,  at  last  betray- 
ing interest.  "  What'll  the  expressage  be  to  take  me 
out  there  with  you?" 

"Twenty-four  dollars,"  said  Captain  Boone; 
"grub  and  transportation.  Second  cabin.  I  haven't 
got  a  first  cabin." 

"You've  got  my  company,"  said  the  Kid,  pulling 
out  a  buckskin  bag. 

With  three  hundred  dollars  he  had  gone  to  Laredo 
for  his  regular  " blowout."  The  duel  hi  Valdos's  had 
cut  short  his  season  of  hilarity,  but  it  had  left  him 
with  nearly  $200  for  aid  in  the  flight  that  it  had 
made  necessary. 

"All  right,  buddy,"  said  the  captain.  "I  hope 
40 


A  Double-Dyed  Deceiver 

your  ma  won't  blame  me  for  this  little  childish  esca- 
pade of  yours."  He  beckoned  to  one  of  the  boat's 
crew.  "Let  Sanchez  lift  you  out  to  the  skiff  so  you 
won't  get  your  feet  wet." 

Thacker,  the  United  States  consul  at  Buenas 
Tierras,  was  not  yet  drunk.  It  was  only  eleven 
o'clock;  and  he  never  arrived  at  his  desired  state  of 
beatitude — a  state  where  he  sang  ancient  maudlin 
vaudeville  songs  and  pelted  his  screaming  parrot 
with  banana  peels — until  the  middle  of  the  afternoon. 
So,  when  he  looked  up  from  his  hammock  at  the 
sound  of  a  slight  cough,  and  saw  the  Kid  standing 
in  the  door  of  the  consulate,  he  was  still  in  a  condition 
to  extend  the  hospitality  and  courtesy  due  from  the 
representative  of  a  great  nation.  "Don't  disturb 
yourself,"  said  the  Kid  easily.  "I  just  dropped  in. 
They  told  me  it  was  customary  to  light  at  your  camp 
before  starting  in  to  round  up  the  town.  I  just  came 
in  on  a  ship  from  Texas." 

"Glad  to  see  you,  Mr. ,"  said  the  consul. 

The  Kid  laughed. 

"Sprague  Dalton,"  he  said.  "It  sounds  funny  to 
me  to  hear  it.  I'm  called  the  Llano  Kid  in  the  Rio 
Grande  country." 

"I'm  Thacker,"  said  the  consul.  "Take  that 
cane-bottom  chair.  Now  if  you've  come  to  invest, 
you  want  somebody  to  advise  you.  These  dingies 
will  cheat  you  out  of  the  gold  in  your  teeth  if  you 
don't  understand  their  ways.  Try  a  cigar?" 

41 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

"Much  obliged,"  said  the  Kid,  "but  if  it  wasn't 
for  my  corn  shucks  and  the  little  bag  in  my  back 
pocket  I  couldn't  live  a  minute."  He  took  out  his 
"makings,"  and  rolled  a  cigarette. 

"They  speak  Spanish  here,"  said  the  consul. 
"You'll  need  an  interpreter.  If  there's  anything 
I  can  do,  why,  I'd  be  delighted.  If  you're  buying 
fruit  lands  or  looking  for  a  concession  of  any  sort, 
you'll  want  somebody  who  knows  the  ropes  to  look 
out  for  you." 

"I  speak  Spanish,"  said  the  Kid,  "about  nine 
times  better  than  I  do  English.  Everybody  speaks 
it  on  the  range  where  I  come  from.  And  I'm  not 
in  the  market  for  anything." 

"You  speak  Spanish?"  said  Thacker  thoughtfully. 
He  regarded  the  Kid  absorbedly. 

"You  look  like  a  Spaniard,  too,"  he  continued. 
"And  you're  from  Texas.  And  you  can't  be  more 
than  twenty  or  twenty-one.  I  wonder  if  you've 
got  any  nerve." 

"You  got  a  deal  of  some  kind  to  put  through?" 
asked  the  Texan,  with  unexpected  shrewdness. 

"Are  you  open  to  a  proposition?"  said  Thacker. 

"What's  the  use  to  deny  it?"  said  the  Kid.  "I 
got  into  a  little  gun  frolic  down  in  Laredo  and 
plugged  a  white  man.  There  wasn't  any  Mexican 
handy.  And  I  come  down  to  your  parrot-and- 
monkey  range  just  for  to  smell  the  morning-glories 
and  marigolds.  Now,  do  you  sabe?  " 

Thacker  got  up  and  closed  the  door. 
42 


A  Double-Dyed  Deceiver 

"Let  me  see  your  hand,"  he  said. 

He  took  the  Kid's  left  hand,  and  examined  the 
back  of  it  closely. 

"I  can  do  it,"  he  said  excitedly.  "Your  flesh  is 
as  hard  as  wood  and  as  healthy  as  a  baby's.  It  will 
heal  in  a  week." 

"If  it's  a  fist  fight  you  want  to  back  me  for,"  said 
the  Kid,  "  don't  put  your  money  up  yet.  Make  it 
gun  work,  and  I'll  keep  you  company.  But  no 
barehanded  scrapping,  like  ladies  at  a  tea-party, 
for  me." 

"It's  easier  than  that,"  said  Thacker.  "Just 
step  here,  will  you?  " 

Through  the  window  he  pointed  to  a  two-story 
white-stuccoed  house  with  wide  galleries  rising 
amid  the  deep-green  tropical  foliage  on  a  wooded 
hill  that  sloped  gently  from  the  sea. 

"In  that  house,"  said  Thacker,  "a  fine  old  Cas- 
tilian  gentleman  and  his  wife  are  yearning  to  gather 
you  into  their  arms  and  fill  your  pockets  with 
money.  Old  Santos  Urique  lives  there.  He  owns 
half  the  gold-mines  in  the  country." 

"You  haven't  been  eating  loco  weed,  have  you?" 
asked  the  Kid. 

"Sit  down  again,"  said  Thacker,  "and  111  tell 
you.  Twelve  years  ago  they  lost  a  kid.  No,  he 
didn't  die — although  most  of  'em  here  do  from  drink- 
ing the  surface  water.  He  was  a  wild  little  devil 
even  if  he  wasn't  but  eight  years  old.  Everybody 
knows  about  it.  Some  Americans  who  were  through 
43 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

here  prospecting  for  gold  had  letters  to  Sefior  Urique, 
and  the  boy  was  a  favourite  with  them.  They 
filled  his  head  with  big  stories  about  the  States;  and 
about  a  month  after  they  left,  the  kid  disappeared, 
too.  He  was  supposed  to  have  stowed  himself  away 
among  the  banana  bunches  on  a  fruit  steamer,  and 
gone  to  New  Orleans.  He  was  seen  once  afterward 
in  Texas,  it  was  thought,  but  they  never  heard  any- 
thing more  of  him.  Old  Urique  has  spent  thousands 
of  dollars  having  him  looked  for.  The  madam  was 
broken  up  worst  of  all.  The  kid  was  her  life.  She 
wears  mourning  yet.  But  they  say  she  believes 
he'll  come  back  to  her  some  day,  and  never  gives  up 
hope.  On  the  back  of  the  boy's  left  hand  was  tat- 
tooed a  flying  eagle  carrying  a  spear  in  his  claws. 
That's  old  Urique's  coat  of  arms  or  something  that 
he  inherited  in  Spain." 

The  Kid  raised  his  left  hand  slowly  and  gazed  at 
it  curiously. 

"That's  it,"  said  Thacker,  reaching  behind  the 
official  desk  for  his  bottle  of  smuggled  brandy. 
"You're  not  so  slow.  I  can  do  it.  What  was  I 
consul  at  Sandakan  for?  I  never  knew  till  now.  In 
a  week  I'll  have  the  eagle  bird  with  the  frog-sticker 
blended  in  so  you'd  think  you  were  born  with  it. 
I  brought  a  set  of  the  needles  and  ink  just  be- 
cause I  was  sure  you'd  drop  in  some  day,  Mr. 
Dalton." 

"Oh,  hell,"  said  the  Kid.  "I  thought  I  told  you 
my  name!" 


A  Double-Dyed  Deceiver 

"All  right,  'Kid,'  then.  It  won't  be  that  long. 
How  does  Senorito  Urique  sound,  for  a  change?  " 

"I  never  played  son  any  that  I  remember  of," 
said  the  Kid.  "If  I  had  any  parents  to  mention 
they  went  over  the  divide  about  the  time  I 
gave  my  first  bleat.  What  is  the  plan  of  your 
round-up?  " 

Thacker  leaned  back  against  the  wall  and  held 
his  glass  up  to  the  light. 

"We've  come  now,"  said  he,  "to  the  question  of 
how  far  you're  willing  to  go  in  a  little  matter  of  the 
sort." 

"I  told  you  why  I  came  down  here, "said  the  Kid 
simply. 

"A  good  answer,"  said  the  consul.  "But  you 
won't  have  to  go  that  far.  Here's  the  scheme. 
After  I  get  the  trademark  tattooed  on  your  hand 
I'll  notify  old  Urique.  In  the  meantime  I'll  furnish 
you  with  all  of  the  family  history  I  can  find  out, 
so  you  can  be  studying  up  points  to  talk  about. 
You've  got  the  looks,  you  speak  the  Spanish,  you 
know  the  facts,  you  can  tell  about  Texas,  you've 
got  the  tattoo  mark.  When  I  notify  them  that 
the  rightful  heir  has  returned  and  is  waiting  •  to 
know  whether  he  will  be  received  and  pardoned, 
what  will  happen?  They'll  simply  rush  down  here 
and  fall  on  your  neck,  and  the  curtain  goes  down 
for  refreshments  and  a  stroll  in  the  lobby." 

"I'm  waiting,"  said  the  Kid.  "I  haven't  had 
my  saddle  off  in  your  camp  long,  pardner,  and  I 
45 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

never  met  you  before;  but  if  you  intend  to  let  it  go 
at  a  parental  blessing,  why,  I'm  mistaken  in  my 
man,  that's  all." 

"Thanks,"  said  the  consul.  "I  haven't  met 
anybody  in  a  long  time  that  keeps  up  with  an  argu- 
ment as  well  as  you  do.  The  rest  of  it  is  simple. 
If  they  take  you  in  only  for  a  while  it's  long  enough. 
Don't  give  'em  time  to  hunt  up  the  strawberry 
mark  on  your  left  shoulder.  Old  Urique  keeps  any- 
where from  $50,000  to  $100,000  in  his  house  all  the 
time  in  a  little  safe  that  you  could  open  with  a  shoe 
buttoner.  Get  it.  My  skill  as  a  tattooer  is  worth 
half  the  boodle.  We  go  halves  and  catch  a  tramp 
steamer  for  Rio  Janeiro.  Let  the  United  States  go 
to  pieces  if  it  can't  get  along  without  my  services. 
Que  dice,  senor?  " 

"It  sounds  to  me!"  said  the  Kid,  nodding  his 
head.  "I'm  out  for  the  dust." 

"All  right,  then,"  said  Thacker.  "You'll  have 
to  keep  close  until  we  get  the  bird  on  you.  You  can 
live  in  the  back  room  here.  I  do  my  own  cooking, 
and  I'll  make  you  as  comfortable  as  a  parsimonious 
Government  will  allow  me." 

Thacker  had  set  the  time  at  a  week,  but  it  was  two 
weeks  before  the  design  that  he  patiently  tattooed 
upon  the  Kid's  hand  was  to  his  notion.  And  then 
Thacker  called  a  muchacho,  and  dispatched  this 
note  to  the  intended  victim: 


A  Double-Dyed  Deceiver 

EL  SEffOR  DON  SANTOS  URIQUE, 
La  Casa  Blanca, 

MY  DEAR  SIR: 

I  beg  permission  to  inform  you  that  there  is  in  my  house  as  a 
temporary  guest  a  young  man  who  arrived  in  Buenas  Tierras 
from  the  United  States  some  days  ago.  Without  wishing  to 
excite  any  hopes  that  may  not  be  realized,  I  think  there  is  a 
possibility  of  his  being  your  long-absent  son.  It  might  be  well 
for  you  to  call  and  see  him.  If  he  is,  it  is  my  opinion  that  his 
intention  was  to  return  to  his  home,  but  upon  arriving  here,  his 
courage  failed  him  from  doubts  as  to  how  he  would  be  received. 
Your  true  servant, 

THOMPSON  THACKER. 

Half  an  hour  afterward — quick  time  for  Buenas 
Tierras  — Senor  Urique's  ancient  landau  drove  to  the 
consul's  door,  with  the  barefooted  coachman  beating 
and  shouting  at  the  team  of  fat,  awkward  horses. 

A  tall  man  with  a  white  moustache  alighted,  and 
assisted  to  the  ground  a  lady  who  was  dressed  and 
veiled  in  unrelieved  black. 

The  two  hastened  inside,  and  were  met  by  Thacker 
with  his  best  diplomatic  bow.  By  his  desk  stood  a 
slender  young  man  with  clear-cut,  sunbrowned 
features  and  smoothly  brushed  black  hair. 

Sefiora  Urique  threw  back  her  heavy  veil  with  a 
quick  gesture.  She  was  past  middle  age,  and  her 
hair  was  beginning  to  silver,  but  her  full,  proud  figure 
and  clear  olive  skin  retained  traces  of  the  beauty 
peculiar  to  the  Basque  province.  But,  once  you  had 
seen  her  eyes,  and  comprehended  the  great  sadness 
that  was  revealed  in  their  deep  shadows  and  hopeless 
47 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

expression,  you  saw  that  the  woman  lived  only  in 
some  memory. 

She  bent  upon  the  young  man  a  long  look  of  the 
most  agonized  questioning.  Then  her  great  black 
eyes  turned,  and  her  gaze  rested  upon  his  left  hand. 
And  then  with  a  sob,  not  loud,  but  seeming  to  shake 
the  room,  she  cried  "Hijo  miol"  and  caught  the 
Llano  Kid  to  her  heart. 

A  month  afterward  the  Kid  came  to  the  consulate 
in  response  to  a  message  sent  by  Thacker. 

He  looked  the  young  Spanish  caballero.  His 
clothes  were  imported,  and  the  wiles  of  the  jewellers 
had  not  been  spent  upon  him  in  vain.  A  more  than 
respectable  diamond  shone  on  his  finger  as  he  rolled 
a  shuck  cigarette. 

"What's  doing?"  asked  Thacker. 

"Nothing  much,"  said  the  Kid  calmly.  "I  eat 
my  first  iguana  steak  to-day.  They're  them  big 
lizards,  you  sabe?  I  reckon,  though,  that  frijoles 
and  side  bacon  would  do  me  about  as  well.  Do  you 
care  for  iguanas,  Thacker?" 

"No,  nor  for  some  other  kinds  of  reptiles, "  said 
Thacker. 

It  was  three  in  the  afternoon,  and  hi  another  hour 
he  would  be  in  his  state  of  beatitude. 

"It's  time  you  were  making  good,  sonny,"  he 
went  on,  with  an  ugly  look  on  his  reddened  face. 
"You're  not  playing  up  to  me  square.  You've  been 
the  prodigal  son  for  four  weeks  now,  and  you  could 
have  had  veal  for  every  meal  on  a  gold  dish  if  you'd 
48 


A  Double-Dyed  Deceiver 

wanted  it.  Now,  Mr.  Kid,  do  you  think  it's  right 
to  leave  me  out  so  long  on  a  husk  diet?  What's  the 
trouble?  Don't  you  get  your  filial  eyes  on  any- 
thing that  looks  like  cash  in  the  CasaBlanca?  Don't 
tell  me  you  don't.  Everybody  knows  where  old 
Urique  keeps  his  stuff.  It's  U.  S.  currency,  too; 
he  don't  accept  anything  else.  What's  doing? 
Don't  say  'nothing'  this  time." 

"  Why,  sure, "  said  the  Kid,  admiring  his  diamond, 
"there's  plenty  of  money  up  there.  I'm  no  judge 
of  collateral  in  bunches,  but  I  will  undertake  for  to 
say  that  I've  seen  the  rise  of  $50,000  at  a  time  in 
that  tin  grub  box  that  my  adopted  father  calls  his 
safe.  And  he  lets  me  carry  the  key  sometimes  just 
to  show  me  that  he  knows  I'm  the  real  little 
Francisco  that  strayed  from  the  herd  a  long  time 
ago." 

"Well,  what  are  you  waiting  for?"  asked  Thacker 
angrily.  "Don't  you  forget  that  I  can  upset  your 
apple-cart  any  day  I  want  to.  If  old  Urique  knew 
you  were  an  impostor,  what  sort  of  things  would 
happen  to  you?  Oh,  you  don't  know  this  country, 
Mr.  Texas  Kid.  The  laws  here  have  got  mustard 
spread  between  'em.  These  people  here'd  stretch 
you  out  like  a  frog  that  had  been  stepped  on,  and 
give  you  about  fifty  sticks  at  every  corner  of  the 
plaza.  And  they'd  wear  every  stick  out,  too. 
What  was  left  of  you  they'd  feed  to  alligators." 

"I  might  as  well  tell  you  now,  pardner,"  said  the 
Kid,  sliding  down  low  on  his  steamer  chair,  "that 
49 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

things  are  going  to  stay  just  as  they  are.    They're 
about  right  now." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Thacker,  rattling 
the  bottom  of  his  glass  on  his  desk. 

"The  scheme's  off,"  said  the  Kid.  "And  when- 
ever you  have  the  pleasure  of  speaking  to  me  address 
me  as  Don  Francisco  Urique.  I'll  guarantee  I'll 
answer  to  it.  We'll  let  Colonel  Urique  keep  his 
money.  His  little  tin  safe  is  as  good  as  the  time- 
locker  in  the  First  National  Bank  of  Laredo  as  far 
as  you  and  me  are  concerned." 

"You're  going  to  throw  me  down,  then,  are  you?" 
said  the  consul. 

"Sure,"  said  the  Kid  cheerfully.  "Throw  you 
down.  That's  it.  And  now  I'll  tell  you  why. 
The  first  night  I  was  up  at  the  colonel's  house  they 
introduced  me  to  a  bedroom.  No  blankets  on  the 
floor — a  real  room,  with  a  bed  and  things  in  it. 
And  before  I  was  asleep,  in  comes  this  artificial 
mother  of  mine  and  tucks  in  the  covers.  'Pan- 
chito,'  she  says,  'my  little  lost  one,  God  has  brought 
you  back  to  me.  I  bless  His  name  forever.'  It  was 
that,  or  some  truck  like  that,  she  said.  And  down 
comes  a  drop  or  two  of  rain  and  hits  me  on  the  nose. 
And  all  that  stuck  by  me,  Mr.  Thacker.  And  it's 
been  that  way  ever  since.  And  it's  got  to  stay  that 
way.  Don't  you  think  that  it's  for  what's  in  it  for 
me,  either,  that  I  say  so.  If  you  have  any  such 
ideas,  keep  'em  to  yourself.  I  haven't  had  much 
truck  with  women  in  my  life,  and  no  mothers  to 
SO 


A  Double-Dyed  Deceiver 

speak  of,  but  here's  a  lady  that  we've  got  to  keep 
fooled.  Once  she  stood  it;  twice  she  won't.  I'm  a 
low-down  wolf,  and  the  devil  may  have  sent  me  on 
this  trail  instead  of  God,  but  I'll  travel  it  to  the  end. 
And  now,  don't  forget  that  I'm  Don  Francisco 
Urique  whenever  you  happen  to  mention  my 
name." 

"I'll  expose  you  to-day,  you — you  double-dyed 
traitor, "  stammered  Thacker. 

The  Kid  arose  and,  without  violence,  took  Thacker 
by  the  throat  with  a  hand  of  steel,  and  shoved  him 
slowly  into  a  corner.  Then  he  drew  from  under  his 
left  arm  his  pearl-handled  .45  and  poked  the  cold 
muzzle  of  it  against  the  consul's  mouth. 

"I  told  you  why  I  come  here,"  he  said,  with  his 
old  freezing  smile.  "If  I  leave  here,  you'll  be  the 
reason.  Never  forget  it,  pardner.  Now,  what  is 
my  name?" 

"Er — Don  Francisco  Urique,"  gasped  Thacker. 

From  outside  came  a  sound  of  wheels,  and  the 
shouting  of  some  one,  and  the  sharp  thwacks  of  a 
wooden  whipstock  upon  the  backs  of  fat  horses. 

The  Kid  put  up  his  gun,  and  walked  toward  the 
door.  But  he  turned  again  and  came  back  to  the 
trembling  Thacker,  and  held  up  his  left  hand  with 
its  back  toward  the  consul. 

"There's  one  more  reason,"  he  said  slowly,  "why 
things  have  got  to  stand  as  they  are.  The  fellow  I 
killed  in  Laredo  had  one  of  them  same  pictures  on  his 
left  hand." 

51 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

Outside,  the  ancient  landau  of  Don  Santos  Urique 
rattled  to  the  door.  The  coachman  ceased  his  bellow- 
ing. Senora  Urique,  in  a  voluminous  gay  gown  of 
white  lace  and  flying  ribbons,  leaned  forward  with  a 
happy  look  in  her  great  soft  eyes. 

"Are  you  within,  dear  son?"  she  called,  in  the 
rippling  Castilian. 

"Madre  mia,  yo  vengo  [mother,  I  come],"  an- 
swered the  young  Don  Francisco  Urique. 


m 

THE    BOLD    DRAGOON 

OH  THE 

ADVENTURE  OF  MY  GRANDFATHER 

WASHINGTON  IRVING 

MY  grandfather  was  a  bold  dragoon,  for  it's  a 
profession,  d'ye  see,  that  has  run  in  the 
family.  All  my  forefathers  have  been 
dragoons,  and  died  on  the  field  of  honour,  except  my- 
self, and  I  hope  my  posterity  may  be  able  to  say  the 
same;  however,  I  don't  mean  to  be  vainglorious. 
Well,  my  grandfather,  as  I  said,  was  a  bold  dragoon, 
and  had  served  in  the  Low  Countries.  In  fact,  he 
was  one  of  that  very  army  which,  according  to  my 
uncle  Toby,  swore  so  terribly  in  Flanders.  He  could 
swear  a  good  stick  himself;  and  moreover  was  the 
very  man  that  introduced  the  doctrine  Corporal 
Trim  mentions  of  radical  heat  and  radical  moisture; 
or,  in  other  words,  the  mode  of  keeping  out  the 
damps  of  ditchwater  by  burnt  brandy.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  it's  nothing  to  the  purport  of  my  story.  I  only 
tell  it  to  show  you  that  my  grandfather  was  a  man 
not  easily  to  be  humbugged.  He  had  seen  service, 
or,  according  to  his  own  phrase,  he  had  seen  the  devil 
— and  that's  saying  every  thing. 
53 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

Well,  gentlemen,  my  grandfather  was  on  his  way 
to  England,  for  which  he  intended  to  embark  from 
Ostend — bad  luck  to  the  place!  for  one  where  I  was 
kept  by  storms  and  headwinds  for  three  long  days, 
and  the  devil  of  a  jolly  companion  or  pretty  girl  to 
comfort  me.  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  my  grandfather 
was  on  his  way  to  England,  or  rather  to  Ostend — 
no  matter  which,  it's  all  the  same.  So  one  evening, 
towards  nightfall,  he  rode  jollily  into  Bruges. — 
Very  like  you  all  know  Bruges,  gentlemen;  a  queer 
old-fashioned  Flemish  town,  once,  they  say,  a  great 
place  for  trade  and  money-making  in  old  times,  when 
the  Mynheers  were  in  their  glory;  but  almost  as 
large  and  as  empty  as  an  Irishm?r/s  pocket  at  the 
present  day. — Well,  gentlemen,  it  was  at  the  time 
of  the  annual  fair.  All  Bruges  was  crowded;  and 
the  canals  swarmed  with  Dutch  boats,  and  the 
streets  swarmed  with  Dutch  merchants;  and  there 
was  hardly  any  getting  along  for  goods,  wares,  and 
merchandise,  and  peasants  in  big  breeches,  and 
women  in  half  a  score  of  petticoats. 

My  grandfather  rode  jollily  along,  in  his  easy, 
slashing  way,  for  he  was  a  saucy,  sunshiny  fellow — 
staring  about  him  at  the  motley  crowd,  and  the  old 
houses  with  gable  ends  to  the  street,  and  storks' 
nests  in  the  chimneys;  winking  at  the  yafrows  who 
showed  their  faces  at  the  windows,  and  joking  the 
women  right  and  left  in  the  street;  all  of  whom 
laughed,  and  took  it  in  amazing  good  part;  for  though 
he  did  not  know  a  word  of  the  language,  yet  he  had 
54 


The  Bold  Dragoon 

always  a  knack  of  making  himself  understood  among 
the  women. 

Well,  gentlemen,  it  being  the  time  of  the  annual 
fair,  all  the  town  was  crowded,  every  inn  and  tavern 
full,  and  my  grandfather  applied  in  vain  from  one 
to  the  other  for  admittance.  At  length  he  rode  up 
to  an  old  rickety  inn,  that  looked  ready  to  fall  to 
pieces,  and  which  all  the  rats  would  have  run  away 
from,  if  they  could  have  found  room  in  any  other 
house  to  put  their  heads.  It  was  just  such  a  queer 
building  as  you  see  hi  Dutch  pictures,  with  a  tall 
roof  that  reached  up  into  the  clouds,  and  as  many 
garrets,  one  over  the  other,  as  the  seven  heavens  of 
Mahomet.  Nothing  had  saved  it  from  tumbling 
down  but  a  stork's  nest  on  the  chimney,  which  al- 
ways brings  good  luck  to  a  house  in  the  Low  Coun- 
tries; and  at  the  very  time  of  my  grandfather's 
arrival,  there  were  two  of  these  long-legged  birds  of 
grace  standing  like  ghosts  on  the  chimney-top. 
Faith,  but  they've  kept  the  house  on  its  legs  to  this 
very  day,  for  you  may  see  it  any  time  you  pass 
through  Bruges,  as  it  stands  there  yet,  only  it  is 
turned  into  a  brewery  of  strong  Flemish  beer, — at 
least  it  was  so  when  I  came  that  way  after  the  battle 
of  Waterloo. 

My  grandfather  eyed  the  house  curiously  as  he 
approached.  It  might  not  have  altogether  struck 
his  fancy,  had  he  not  seen  in  large  letters  over  the 
door, 

HEER  VERKOOPT  MAN  GOEDEN  DRANK. 
55 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

My  grandfather  had  learnt  enough  of  the  language 
to  know  that  the  sign  promised  good  liquor.  "This 
is  the  house  for  me,"  said  he,  stopping  short  before 
the  door. 

The  sudden  appearance  of  a  dashing  dragoon  was 
an  event  in  an  old  inn  frequented  only  by  the  peace- 
ful sons  of  traffic.  A  rich  burgher  of  Antwerp,  a 
stately  ample  man  in  a  broad  Flemish  hat,  and  who 
was  the  great  man  and  great  patron  of  the  establish- 
ment, sat  smoking  a  clean  long  pipe  on  one  side  of 
the  door;  a  fat  little  distiller  of  Geneva,  from 
Schiedam,  sat  smoking  on  the  other;  and  the  bottle- 
nosed  host  stood  in  the  door,  and  the  comely  hostess, 
in  crimped  cap,  beside  him;  and  the  hostess's  daugh- 
ter, a  plump  Flanders  lass,  with  long  gold  pendants 
in  her  ears,  was  at  a  side  window. 

"Humph!"  said  the  rich  burgher  of  Antwerp,  with 
sulky  glance  at  the  stranger. 

"De  duyvel!"  said  the  fat  little  distiller  of  Schie- 
dam. 

The  landlord  saw,  with  the  quick  glance  of  a 
publican,  that  the  new  guest  was  not  at  all  to 
the  taste  of  the  old  ones;  and,  to  tell  the  truth, 
he  did  not  like  my  grandfather's  saucy  eye.  He 
shook  his  head.  "Not  a  garret  hi  the  house  but  was 
full." 

"Not  a  garret!"  echoed  the  landlady. 

"Not  a  garret!"  echoed  the  daughter. 

The  burgher  of  Antwerp,  and  the  little  distiller  of 
Schiedam,  continued  to  smoke  their  pipes  sullenly, 
56 


The  Bold  Dragoon 

eyeing  the  enemy  askance  from  under  their  broad 
hats,  but  said  nothing. 

My  grandfather  was  not  a  man  to  be  browbeaten. 
He  threw  the  reins  on  his  horse's  neck,  cocked  his 
head  en  one  side,  stuck  one  arm  akimbo, — "Faith 
and  troth!"  said  he,  "but  I'll  sleep  in  this  house  this 
very  night." — As  he  said  this  he  gave  a  slap  on  his 
thigh,  by  way  of  emphasis — the  slap  went  to  the 
landlady's  heart. 

He  followed  up  the  vow  by  jumping  off  his  horse, 
and  making  his  way  past  the  staring  Mynheers  into 
the  public  room. — May  be  you've  been  in  the  bar- 
room of  an  old  Flemish  inn — faith,  but  a  handsome 
chamber  it  was  as  you'd  wish  to  see;  with  a  brick 
floor,  and  a  great  fireplace,  with  the  whole  Bible 
history  in  glazed  tiles;  and  then  the  mantelpiece, 
pitching  itself  head  foremost  out  of  the  wall,  with  a 
whole  regiment  of  cracked  teapots  and  earthen  jugs 
paraded  on  it;  not  to  mention  half  a  dozen  great 
Delft  platters,  hung  about  the  room  by  way  of 
pictures;  and  the  little  bar  in  one  corner,  and  the 
bouncing  bar-maid  inside  of  it,  with  a  red  calico 
cap,  and  yellow  ear-drops. 

My  grandfather  snapped  his  fingers  over  his 
head,  as  he  cast  an  eye  round  the  room — "Faith, 
this  is  the  very  house  I've  been  looking  after,"  said 
he. 

There  was  some  further  show  of  resistance  on  the 
part  of  the  garrison;  but  my  grandfather  was  an  old 
soldier,  and  an  Irishman  to  boot,  and  not  easily 
57 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

repulsed,  especially  after  he  had  got  into  the  fortress. 
So  he  blarneyed  the  landlord,  kissed  the  landlord's 
wife,  tickled  the  landlord's  daughter,  chucked  the 
bar-maid  under  the  chin;  and  it  was  agreed  on  all 
hands  that  it  would  be  a  thousand  pities,  and  a 
burning  shame  into  the  bargain,  to  turn  such  a  bold 
dragoon  into  the  streets.  So  they  laid  their  heads 
together,  that  is  to  say,  my  grandfather  and  the 
landlady,  and  it  was  at  length  agreed  to  accommo- 
date him  with  an  old  chamber,  that  had  been  for 
some  time  shut  up. 

"Some  say  it's  haunted,"  whispered  the  landlord's 
daughter;  "but  you  are  a  bold  dragoon,  and  I  dare 
say  don't  fear  ghosts." 

"The  devil  a  bit!"  said  my  grandfather,  pinching 
her  plump  cheek.  "But  if  I  should  be  troubled 
by  ghosts,  I've  been  to  the  Red  Sea  in  my  time, 
and  have  a  pleasant  way  of  laying  them,  my 
darling." 

And  then  he  whispered  something  to  the  girl  which 
made  her  laugh,  and  give  him  a  good-humoured  box 
on  the  ear.  In  short,  there  was  nobody  knew  better 
how  to  make  his  way  among  the  petticoats  than  my 
grandfather. 

In  a  little  while,  as  was  his  usual  way,  he  took 
complete  possession  of  the  house,  swaggering  all 
over  it;  into  the  stable  to  look  after  his  horse,  into 
the  kitchen  to  look  after  his  supper.  He  had  some- 
thing to  say  or  do  with  everyone;  smoked  with  the 
Dutchman,  drank  with  the  Germans,  slapped  the 
58 


The  Bold  Dragoon 

landlord  on  the  shoulder,  romped  with  his  daughter 
and  the  bar-maid: — never,  since  the  days  of  Alley 
Croaker,  had  such  a  rattling  blade  been  seen.  The 
landlord  stared  at  him  with  astonishment;  the 
landlord's  daughter  hung  her  head  and  giggled 
whenever  he  came  near;  and  as  he  swaggered  along 
the  corridor,  with  his  sword  trailing  by  his  side,  the 
maids  looked  after  him,  and  whispered  to  one  an- 
other, "What  a  proper  man!" 

At  supper,  my  grandfather  took  command  of  the 
table-d'hdte  as  though  he  had  been  at  home;  helped 
everybody,  not  forgetting  himself;  talked  with 
everyone,  whether  he  understood  their  language  or 
not;  and  made  his  way  into  the  intimacy  of  the  rich 
burgher  of  Antwerp,  who  had  never  been  known  to 
be  sociable  with  anyone  during  his  life.  In  fact, 
he  revolutionised  the  whole  establishment,  and  gave 
it  such  a  rouse,  that  the  very  house  reeled  with  it. 
He  outsat  everyone  at  table,  excepting  the  little  fat 
distiller  of  Schiedam,  who  sat  soaking  a  long  time  be- 
fore he  broke  forth;  but  when  he  did,  he  was  a  very 
devil  incarnate.  He  took  a  violent  affection  for  my 
grandfather;  so  they  sat  drinking  and  smoking,  and 
telling  stories,  and  singing  Dutch  and  Irish  songs, 
without  understanding  a  word  each  other  said,  until 
the  little  Hollander  was  fairly  swamped  with  his  own 
gin  and  water,  and  carried  off  to  bed,  whooping  and 
hickuping,  and  trolling  the  burden  of  a  Low  Dutch 
love-song. 

Well,  gentlemen,  my  grandfather  was  shown  to 
59 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

his  quarters  up  a  large  staircase,  composed  of  loads 
of  hewn  timber;  and  through  long  rigmarole  passages, 
hung  with  blackened  paintings  of  fish,  and  fruit,  and 
game,  and  country  frolics,  and  huge  kitchens,  and 
portly  burgomasters,  such  as  you  see  about  old- 
fashioned  Flemish  inns,  till  at  length  he  arrived  at 
his  room. 

An  old-time  chamber  it  was,  sure  enough,  and 
crowded  with  all  kinds  of  trumpery.  It  looked  like 
an  infirmary  for  decayed  and  superannuated  furni- 
ture, where  everything  diseased  or  disabled  was  sent 
to  nurse  or  to  be  forgotten.  Or  rather  it  might  be 
taken  for  a  general  congress  of  old  legitimate  mova- 
bles, where  every  kind  and  country  had  a  represen- 
tative. No  two  chairs  were  alike.  Such  high  backs 
and  low  backs,  and  leather  bottoms,  and  worsted 
bottoms,  and  straw  bottoms,  and  no  bottoms;  and 
cracked  marble  tables  with  curiously  carved  legs, 
holding  balls  in  their  claws,  as  though  they  were 
going  to  play  at  nine-pins. 

My  grandfather  made  a  bow  to  the  motley  assem- 
blage as  he  entered,  and,  having  undressed  himself, 
placed  his  light  in  the  fireplace,  asking  pardon  of  the 
tongs,  which  seemed  to  be  making  love  to  the  shovel 
hi  the  chimney-corner,  and  whispering  soft  nonsense 
in  its  ear. 

The  rest  of  the  guests  were  by  this  time  sound 

asleep,  for  your  Mynheers  are  huge  sleepers.    The 

housemaids,  one  by  one,  crept  up  yawning  to  their 

attics;  and  not  a  female  head  in  the  inn  was  laid  on  a 

60 


The  Bold  Dragoon 

pillow  that  night  without  dreaming  of  the  bold 
dragoon. 

My  grandfather,  for  his  part,  got  into  bed,  and 
drew  over  him  one  of  those  great  bags  of  down, 
under  which  they  smother  a  man  in  the  Low  Coun- 
tries; and  there  he  lay,  melting  between  two  feather 
beds,  like  an  anchovy  sandwich  between  two  slices  of 
toast  and  butter.  He  was  a  warm  complexioned 
man,  and  this  smothering  played  the  very  deuce 
with  him.  So,  sure  enough,  in  a  little  time  it  seemed 
as  if  a  legion  of  imps  were  twitching  at  him,  and  all 
the  blood  in  his  veins  was  in  a  fever  heat. 

He  lay  still,  however,  until  all  the  house  was 
quiet,  excepting  the  snoring  of  the  Mynheers  from 
the  different  chambers;  who  answered  one  another 
in  all  kinds  of  tones  and  cadences,  like  so  many  bull- 
frogs in  a  swamp.  The  quieter  the  house  became, 
the  more  unquiet  became  my  grandfather.  He 
vraxed  warmer  and  warmer,  until  at  length  the  bed 
became  too  hot  to  hold  him. 

"May  be  the  maid  had  warmed  it  too  much?" 
said  the  curious  gentleman,  inquiringly. 

"I  rather  think  the  contrary,"  replied  the  Irish- 
man. "But,  be  that  as  it  may,  it  grew  too  hot  for 
my  grandfather." 

"  Faith,  there's  no  standing  this  any  longer,"  says 
he.  So  he  jumped  out  of  bed  and  went  strolling 
about  the  house. 

"What  for?"  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman. 

"Why  to  cool  himself,  to  be  sure — or  perhaps  to 
61 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

find  a  more  comfortable  bed — or  perhaps —  But  no 
matter  what  he  went  for — he  never  mentioned — and 
there's  no  use  in  taking  up  our  time  in  conjecturing." 

Well,  my  grandfather  had  been  for  some  time 
absent  from  his  room,  and  was  returning,  perfectly 
cool,  when  just  as  he  reached  the  door,  he  heard 
a  strange  noise  within.  He  paused  and  listened.  It 
seemed  as  if  someone  were  trying  to  hum  a  tune  in 
defiance  of  the  asthma.  He  recollected  the  report  of 
the  room  being  haunted;  but  he  was  no  believer  in 
ghosts,  so  he  pushed  the  door  gently  open  and  peeped 
in. 

Egad,  gentlemen,  there  was  a  gambol  carrying  on 
within  enough  to  have  astonished  St.  Anthony  him- 
self. By  the  light  of  the  fire  he  saw  a  pale  weazen- 
faced  fellow,  in  a  long  flannel  gown  and  a  tall  white 
night-cap  with  a  tassel  to  it,  who  sat  by  the  fire  with 
a  bellows  under  his  arm  by  way  of  bagpipe,  from 
which  he  forced  the  asthmatical  music  that  had 
bothered  my  grandfather.  As  he  played,  too,  he 
kept  twitching  about  with  a  thousand  queer  contor- 
tions, nodding  his  head,  and  bobbing  about  his 
tasselled  night-cap. 

My  grandfather  thought  this  very  odd  and  mighty 
presumptuous,  and  was  about  to  demand  what 
business  he  had  to  play  his  wind  instrument  in  an- 
other gentleman's  quarters,  when  a  new  cause  of 
astonishment  met  his  eye.  From  the  opposite  side 
of  the  room  a  long-backed,  bandy-legged  chair  cov- 
ered with  leather,  and  studded  all  over  in  a  cox- 
62 


The  Bold  Dragoon 

combical  fashion  with  little  brass  nails,  got  suddenly 
into  motion,  thrust  out  first  a  claw-foot,  then  a 
crooked  arm,  and  at  length,  making  a  leg,  slided 
gracefully  up  to  an  easy  chair  of  tarnished  brocade, 
with  a  hole  in  its  bottom,  and  led  it  gallantly  out  in 
a  ghostly  minuet  about  the  floor. 

The  musician  now  played  fiercer  and  fiercer,  and 
bobbed  his  head  and  his  night-cap  about  like  mad. 
By  degrees  the  dancing  mania  seemed  to  seize  upon 
all  the  other  pieces  of  furniture.  The  antique,  long- 
bodied  chairs  paired  off  in  couples  and  led  down  a 
country  dance;  a  three-legged  stool  danced  a  horn- 
pipe, though  horribly  puzzled  by  its  supernumerary 
limb;  while  the  amorous  tongs  seized  the  shovel 
round  the  waist,  and  whirled  it  about  the  room  in  a 
German  waltz.  In  short,  all  the  movables  got  in 
motion:  pirouetting  hands  across,  right  and  left, 
like  so  many  devils;  all  except  a  great  clothes-press, 
which  kept  courtesying  and  courtesying  in  a  corner, 
like  a  dowager,  in  exquisite  time  to  the  music;  being 
rather  too  corpulent  to  dance,  or,  perhaps  at  a  loss 
for  a  partner. 

My  grandfather  concluded  the  latter  to  be  the 
reason;  so  being,  like  a  true  Irishman,  devoted  to 
the  sex,  and  at  all  times  ready  for  a  frolic,  he  bounced 
into  the  room,  called  to  the  musician  to  strike  up 
PaddyO'Rafferty,capered  up  to  the  clothes-press,and 

seized  upon  the  two  handles  to  lead  her  out: 

when — whirr!  the  whole  revel  was  at  an  end.    The 

chairs,  tables,  tongs,  and  shovel  slunk  in  an  instant 

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Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

as  quietly  into  their  places  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened, and  the  musician  vanished  up  the  chimney, 
leaving  the  bellows  behind  him  in  his  hurry.  My 
grandfather  found  himself  seated  in  the  middle  of 
the  floor  with  the  clothes-press  sprawling  before 
him,  and  the  two  handles  jerked  off,  and  in  his  hands. 

"Then,  after  all,  this  was  a  mere  dream!"  said  the 
inquisitive  gentleman. 

"The  divil  a  bit  of  a  dream !"  replied  the  Irishman. 
"There  never  was  a  truer  fact  in  this  world.  Faith, 
I  should  have  liked  to  see  any  man  tell  my  grand- 
father it  was  a  dream." 

Well,  gentlemen,  as  the  clothes-press  was  a  mighty 
heavy  body,  and  my  grandfather  likewise,  particu- 
larly in  rear,  you  may  easily  suppose  that  two  such 
heavy  bodies  coming  to  the  ground  would  make  a  bit 
of  a  noise.  Faith,  the  old  mansion  shook  as  though 
it  had  mistaken  it  for  an  earthquake.  The  whole 
garrison  was  alarmed.  The  landlord,  who  slept  be- 
low, hurried  up  with  a  candle  to  inquire  the  cause, 
but  with  all  his  haste  his  daughter  had  arrived  at 
the  scene  of  uproar  before  him.  The  landlord  was 
followed  by  the  landlady,  who  was  followed  by  the 
bouncing  bar-maid,  who  was  followed  by  the  simper- 
ing chambermaids,  all  holding  together,  as  well  as 
they  could,  such  garments  as  they  first  laid  hands  on; 
but  all  in  a  terrible  hurry  to  see  what  the  deuce  was  to 
pay  in  the  chamber  of  the  bold  dragoon. 

My  grandfather  related  the  marvellous  scene  he 
had  witnessed,  and  the  broken  handles  of  the  pros- 
64 


The  Bold  Dragoon 

trate  clothes-press  bore  testimony  to  the  fact.  There 
was  no  contesting  such  evidence;  particularly  with 
a  lad  of  my  grandfather's  complexion,  who  seemed 
able  to  make  good  every  word  either  with  sword  or 
shillelah.  So  the  landlord  scratched -his  head  and 
looked  silly,  as  he  was  apt  to  do  when  puzzled.  The 
landlady  scratched — no,  she  did  not  scratch  her  head 
but  she  knit  her  brow,  and  did  not  seem  half  pleased 
with  the  explanation.  But  the  landlady's  daughter 
corroborated  it  by  recollecting  that  the  last  person 
who  had  dwelt  in  that  chamber  was  a  famous  juggler 
who  died  of  St.  Vitus's  dance,  and  had  no  doubt 
infected  all  the  furniture. 

This  set  all  things  to  rights,  particularly  when  the 
chambermaids  declared  that  they  had  all  witnessed 
strange  carryings  on  in  that  room;  and  as  they 
declared  this  "upon  their  honours,"  there  could  not 
remain  a  doubt  upon  the  subject. 

"And  did  your  grandfather  go  to  bed  again  in  that 
room?"  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman. 

"That's  more  than  I  can  tell.  Where  he  passed 
the  rest  of  the  night  was  a  secret  he  never  disclosed. 
In  fact,  though  he  had  seen  much  service,  he  was  but 
indifferently  acquainted  with  geography,  and  apt  to 
make  blunders  in  his  travels  about  inns  at  night, 
which  it  would  have  puzzled  him  sadly  to  account 
for  in  the  morning." 

"Was  he  ever  apt  to  walk  in  his  sleep?"  said  the 
knowing  old  gentleman. 

"Never  that  I  heard  of." 
65 


IV 

THE  BET* 

ANTON  CHEKHOV 


IT  was  a  dark  autumn  night.  The  old  banker 
was  pacing  from  corner  to  corner  of  his  study, 
recalling  to  his  mind  the  party  he  gave  in  the 
autumn  fifteen  years  ago.  There  were  many  clever 
people  at  the  party  and  much  interesting  conversa- 
tion. They  talked  among  other  things  of  capital 
punishment.  The  guests,  among  them  not  a 
few  scholars  and  journalists,  for  the  most  part  dis- 
approved of  capital  punishment.  They  found  it 
obsolete  as  a  means  of  punishment,  unfitted  to  a 
Christian  state  and  immoral.  Some  of  them 
thought  that  capital  punishment  should  be  replaced 
universally  by  life-imprisonment. 

"I  don't  agree  with  you,"  said  the  host.  "I 
myself  have  experienced  neither  capital  punishment 
nor  life-imprisonment,  but  if  one  may  judge  a  priori, 
then  in  my  opinion  capital  punishment  is  more 
moral  and  more  humane  than  imprisonment.  Execu- 
tion kills  instantly,  life-imprisonment  kills  by  degrees. 
Who  is  the  more  humane  executioner,  one  who  kills 

*Reprinted  by  permission  of  John  W.  Luce  and  Company. 
66 


The  Bet 
t 
you  in  a  few  seconds  or  one  who  draws  the  lif e  out  of 

you  incessantly,  for  years?" 

"They're  both  equally  immoral, "  remarked  one 
of  the  guests,  "  because  their  purpose  is  the  same,  to 
take  away  life.  The  state  is  not  God.  It  has  no 
right  to  take  away  that  which  it  cannot  give  back, 
if  it  should  so  desire." 

Among  the  company  was  a  lawyer,  a  young  man 
of  about  twenty-five.  On  being  asked  his  opinion, 
he  said: 

"Capital  punishment  and  life-imprisonment  are 
equally  immoral;  but  if  I  were  offered  the  choice 
between  them,  I  would  certainly  choose  the  second. 
It's  better  to  live  somehow  than  not  to  live 
at  all." 

There  ensued  a  lively  discussion.  The  banker 
who  was  then  younger  and  more  nervous  suddenly 
lost  his  temper,  banged  his  fist  on  the  table,  and 
turning  to  the  young  lawyer,  cried  out: 

"It's  a  lie.  I  bet  you  two  millions  you  wouldn't 
stick  in  a  cell  even  for  five  years." 

"If  that's  serious,"  replied  the  lawyer,  "then 
I  bet  I'll  stay  not  five  but  fifteen." 

"Fifteen!  Done!"  cried  the  banker.  "Gentle- 
men, I  stake  two  millions." 

"Agreed.  You  stake  two  millions,  I  my  free- 
dom, "  said  the  lawyer. 

So  this  wild,  ridiculous  bet  came  to  pass.  The 
banker,  who  at  that  time  had  too  many  millions  to 
count,  spoiled  and  capricious,  was  beside  himself 
67 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

with  rapture.    During  supper  lie  said  to  the  lawyer 
jokingly: 

"Come  to  your  senses,  young  man,  before  it's 
too  late.  Two  millions  are  nothing  to  me,  but  you 
stand  to  lose  three  or  four  of  the  best  years  of  your 
life.  I  say  three  or  four,  because  you'll  never  stick 
it  out  any  longer.  Don't  forget  either,  you  un- 
happy man,  that  voluntary  is  much  heavier  than 
enforced  imprisonment.  The  idea  that  you  have 
the  right  to  free  yourself  at  any  moment  will  poison 
the  whole  of  your  life  in  the  cell.  I  pity  you." 
*"  And  now  the  banker  pacing  from  corner  to  corner 
recalled  all  this  and  asked  himself : 

"Why  did  I  make  this  bet?  What's  the  good? 
The  lawyer  loses  fifteen  years  of  his  lif e  and  I  throw 
away  two  millions.  Will  it  convince  people  thai" 
capital  punishment  is  worse  or  better  than  imprison- 
ment for  life?  No,  No!  all  stuff  and  rubbish.  On 
my  part,  it  was  the  caprice  of  a  well-fed  man;  on  the 
lawyer's,  pure  greed  of  gold." 

He  recollected  further  what  happened  after  the 
evening  party.  It  was  decided  that  the  lawyer 
must  undergo  his  imprisonment  under  the  strictest 
observation,  in  a  garden-wing  of  the  banker's  house. 
It  was  agreed  that  during  the  period  he  would  be 
deprived  of  the  right  to  cross  the  threshold,  to  see 
living  people,  to  hear  human  voices,  and  to  receive 
letters  and  newspapers.  He  was  permitted  to  have 
a  musical  instrument,  to  read  books,  to  write  letters, 
to_drink  wine  and  smoke  tobacco.  By  the  agree- 
68 


The  Bet 

ment  he  could  communicate,  but  only  in  silence 
with  the  outside  world  through  a  little  window 
specially  constructed  for  this  purpose.  Every- 
thing necessary,  books,  music,  wine,  he  could  re- 
ceive in  any  quantity  by  sending  a  note  through  the 
window.  The  agreement  provided  for  all  the 
minutest  details,  which  made  the  confinement  strictly 
solitary,  and  it  obliged  the  lawyer  to  remain  exactly 
fifteen  years  from  twelve  o'clock  of  November  i4th 
1870  to  twelve  o'clock  of  November  i4th  1885.  The 
least  attempt  on  his  part  to  violate  the  conditions, 
to  escape  if  only  for  two  minutes  before  the  time 
freed  the  banker  from  the  obligation  to  pay  him 
the  two  millions. 

During  the  first  year  of  imprisonment,  the  lawyer, 
as  far  as  it  was  possible  to  judge  from  his  short 
notes,  suffered  terribly  from  loneliness  and  boredom. 
From  his  wing  day  and  night  came  the  sound  of  the 
piano.  He  rejected  wine  and  tobacco.  "Wine," 
he  wrote,  "excites  desires,  and  desires  are  the  chief 
foes  of  a  prisoner;  besides,  nothing  is  more  boring 
than  to  drink  good  wine  alone,"  and  tobacco  spoils 
the  air  in  his  room.  During  the  first  year  the 
lawyer  was  sent  books  of  a  light  character;  novels 
with  a  complicated  love  interest,  stories  of  crime 
and  fantasy,  comedies,  and  so  on. 

In  the  second  year  the  piano  was  heard  no  longer 

and  the  lawyer  asked  only  for  classics.    In  the 

fifth  year  music  was  heard  again,  and  the  prisoner 

asked  for  wine.    Those  who  watched  him  said  that 

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Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

during  the  whole  of  that  year  he  was  only  eating, 
drinking,  and  lying  on  his  bed.  He  yawned  often 
and  talked  angrily  to  himself.  Books  he  did  not  read. 
Sometimes  at  nights  he  would  sit  down  to  write.  He 
would  write  for  a  long  time  and  tear  it  all  up  in  the 
morning.  More  than  once  he  was  heard  to  weep. 

In  the  second  half  of  the  sixth  year,  the  prisoner 
began  zealously  to  study  languages,  philosophy,  and 
history.  He  fell  on  these  subjects  so  hungrily  that 
the  banker  hardly  had  time  to  get  books  enough  for 
him.  In  the  space  of  four  years  about  six  hundred 
volumes  were  bought  at  his  request.  It  was  while 
that  passion  lasted  that  the  banker  received  the 
following  letter  from  the  prisoner:  "My  dear 
gaoler,  I  am  writing  these  lines  in  six  languages. 
Show  them  to  experts.  Let  them  read  them.  If 
they  do  not  find  one  single  mistake,  I  beg  you  to 
give  orders  to  have  a  gun  fired  off  in  the  garden. 
By  the  noise  I  shall  know  that  my  efforts  have  not 
been  in  vain.  The  geniuses  of  all  ages  and  coun- 
tries speak  in  different  languages;  but  in  them  all 
burns  the  same  flame.  Oh,  if  you  knew  my  heavenly 
happiness  now  that  I  can  understand  them!"  The 
prisoner's  desire  was  fulfilled.  Two  shots  were  fired 
in  the  garden  by  the  banker's  order. 

Later  on,  after  the  tenth  year,  the  lawyer  sat 
immovable  before  his  table  and  read  only  the  New 
Testament.  The  banker  found  it  strange  that  a 
man  who  in  four  years  had  mastered  six  hundred 
erudite  volumes,  should  have  spent  nearly  a  year  in 
70 


The  Bet 

reading  one  book,  easy  to  understand  and  by  no 
means  thick.  The  New  Testament  was  then  re- 
placed by  the  history  of  religions  and  theology. 

During  the  last  two  years  of  his  confinement  the 
prisoner  read  an  extraordinary  amount,  quite  hap- 
hazard. Now  he  would  apply  himself  to  the  natural 
sciences,  then  would  read  Byron  or  Shakespeare. 
Notes  used  to  come  from  him  in  which  he  asked  to  be 
sent  at  the  same  time  a  book  on  chemistry,  a  text- 
book of  medicine,  a  novel,  and  some  treatise  on 
philosophy  or  theology.  He  read  as  though  he  were 
swimming  in  the  sea  among  the  broken  pieces  of 
wreckage,  and  in  his  desire  to  save  his  life  was 
eagerly  grasping  one  piece  after  another. 

n 

The  banker  recalled  all  this,  and  thought: 
"To-morrow  at  twelve  o'clock  he  receives  his 
freedom.     Under  the  agreement,  I  shall  have  to 
pay  him  two  millions.    If  I  pay,  it's  all  over  with 
me.    I  am  ruined  for  ever.     .     .    ." 

Fifteen  years  before  he  had  too  many  millions  to 
count,  but  now  he  was  afraid  to  ask  himself  which 
he  had  more  of,  money  or  debts.  Gambling  on  the 
Stock-Exchange,  risky  speculation,  and  the  reck- 
lessness of  which  he  could  not  rid  himself  even  in 
old  age,  had  gradually  brought  his  business  to  decay; 
and  the  fearless,  self-confident,  proud  man  of  busi- 
ness had  become  an  ordinary  banker,  trembling  at 
every  rise  and  fall  in  the  market. 
71 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

"That  cursed  bet, "  murmured  the  old  man,  clutch- 
ing his  head  in  despair.  .  .  .  "Why  didn't  the 
man  die?  He's  only  forty  years  old.  He  will  take 
away  my  last  farthing,  marry,  enjoy  lif e,  gamble  on 
the  Exchange,  and  I  will  look  on  like  an  envious 
beggar  and  hear  the  same  words  from  him  every 
day:  'I'm  obliged  to  you  for  the  happiness  of  my 
life.  Let  me  help  you.'  No,  it's  too  much!  The 
only  escape  from  bankruptcy  and  disgrace — is  that 
the  man  should  die." 

The  clock  had  just  struck  three.  The  banker 
was  listening.  In  the  house  everyone  was  asleep, 
and  one  could  hear  only  the  frozen  trees  whining 
outside  the  windows.  Trying  to  make  no  sound, 
he  took  out  of  his  safe  the  key  of  the  door  which  had 
not  been  opened  for  fifteen  years,  put  on  his  over- 
coat, and  went  out  of  the  house.  The  garden  was 
dark  and  cold.  It  was  raining.  A  keen  damp  wind 
hovered  howling  over  all  the  garden  and  gave  the 
trees  no  rest.  Though  he  strained  his  eyes,  the 
banker  could  see  neither  the  ground,  nor  tiie  white 
statues,  nor  trie  garden-wing,  nor  the  trees.  Ap- 
proaching the  place  where  the  garden  wing  stood, 
he  called  the  watchman  twice.  There  was  no 
answer.  Evidently  the  watchman  had  taken  shelter 
from  the  bad  weather  and  was  now  asleep  somewhere 
in  the  kitchen  or  the  greenhouse. 

"If  I  have  the  courage  to  fulfil  my  intention," 
thought  the  old  man,  "the  suspicion  will  fall  on  the 
watchman  first  of  all." 

72 


The  Bet 

In  the  darkness  he  groped  for  the  stairs  and  the 
door  and  entered  the  hall  of  the  garden-wing,  then 
poked  his  way  into  a  narrow  passage  and  struck  a 
match.  Not  a  soul  was  there.  Someone's  bed, 
with  no  bedclothes  on  it,  stood  there,  and  an 
iron  stove  was  dark  in  the  corner.  The  seals  on 
the  door  that  led  into  the  prisoner's  room  were 
unbroken. 

When  the  match  went  out,  the  old  man,  trembling 
from  agitation,  peeped  into  the  little  window. 

In  the  prisoner's  room  a  candle  was  burning  dim. 
The  prisoner  himself  sat  by  the  table.  Only  his 
back,  the  hair  on  his  head  and  his  hands  were  visible. 
On  the  table,  the  two  chairs,  and  the  carpet  by  the 
table  open  books  were  strewn. 

Five  minutes  passed  and  the  prisoner  never  once 
stirred.  Fifteen  years'  confinement  had  taught  him 
to  sit  motionless.  The  banker  tapped  on  the  win- 
dow with  his  finger,  but  the  prisoner  gave  no  move- 
ment hi  reply.  Then  the  banker  cautiously  tore 
the  seals  from  the  door  and  put  the  key  into  the  lock. 
The  rusty  lock  gave  a  hoarse  groan  and  the  door 
creaked.  The  banker  expected  instantly  to  hear  a 
cry  of  surprise  and  the  sound  of  steps.  Three 
minutes  passed  and  it  was  as  quiet  behind  the  door 
as  it  had  been  before.  He  made  up  his  mind  to 
enter. 

Before  the  table  sat  a  man,  unlike  an  ordinary 
human  being.  It  was  a  skeleton,  with  tight-drawn 
skin,  with  a  woman's  long  curly  hair,  and  a  shaggy 
73 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

beard.  The  colour  of  his  face  was  yellow,  of  an 
earthy  shade;  the  cheeks  were  sunken,  the  back 
long  and  narrow,  and  the  hand  upon  which  he 
leaned  his  hairy  head  was  so  lean  and  skinny  that 
it  was  painful  to  look  upon.  His  hair  was  already 
silvering  with  grey,  and  no  one  who  glanced  at 
the  senile  emaciation  of  the  face  would  have 
believed  that  he  was  only  forty  years  old.  On 
the  table,  before  his  bended  head,  lay  a  sheet  of 
paper  on  which  something  was  written  in  a  tiny 
hand. 

"Poor  devil,"  thought  the  banker,  "he's  asleep 
and  probably  seeing  millions  in  his  dreams.  I  have 
only  to  take  and  throw  this  half-dead  thing  on  the 
bed,  smother  him  a  moment  with  the  pillow,  and  the 
most  careful  examination  will  find  no  trace  of  un- 
natural death.  But,  first,  let  us  read  what  he  has 
written  here." 

The  banker  took  the  sheet  from  the  table  and 
read: 

"To-morrow  at  twelve  o'clock  midnight,  I  shall 
obtain  my  freedom  and  the  right  to  mix  with  people. 
But  before  I  leave  this  room  and  see  the  sun  I  think 
it  necessary  to  say  a  few  words  to  you.  On  my  own 
clear  conscience  and  before  God  who  sees  me  I 
declare  to  you  that  I  despise  freedom,  life,  health, 
and  all  that  your  books  call  the  blessings  of  the 
world. 

"For  fifteen  years  I  have  diligently  studied 
earthly  life.  True,  I  saw  neither  the  earth  nor  the 
74 


The  Bet 

people,  but  in  your  books  I  drank  fragrant  wine, 
sang  songs,  hunted  deer  and  wild  boar  in  the  forests, 
loved  women.  .  .  .  And  beautiful  women,  like 
clouds  ethereal,  created  by  the  magic  of  your  poets' 
genius,  visited  me  by  night  and  whispered  me 
wonderful  tales,  which  made  my  head  drunken. 
In  your  books  I  climbed  the  summits  of  Elbruz  and 
Mont  Blanc  and  saw  from  thence  how  the  sun  rose 
in  the  morning,  and  in  the  evening  overflowed  the 
sky,  the  ocean,  and  the  mountain  ridges  with  a 
purple  gold.  I  saw  from  thence  how  above  me 
lightnings  glimmered  cleaving  the  clouds;  I  saw 
green  forests,  fields,  rivers,  lakes,  cities;  I  heard 
syrens  singing,  and  the  playing  of  the  pipes  of  Pan; 
I  touched  the  wings  of  beautiful  devils  who  came 
flying  to  me  to  speak  of  God.  ...  In  your 
books  I  cast  myself  into  bottomless  abysses,  worked 
miracles,  burned  cities  to  the  ground,  preached  new 
religions,  conquered  whole  countries.  .  .  . 

"Your  books  gave  me  wisdom.  All  that  un- 
wearying human  thought  created  in  the  centuries 
is  compressed  to  a  little  lump  in  my  skull.  I  know 
that  I  am  more  clever  than  you  all. 

"And  I  despise  your  books,  despise  all  worldly 
blessings  and  wisdom.  Everything  is  void,  frail, 
visionary  and  delusive  like  a  mirage.  Though  you 
be  proud  and  wise  and  beautiful,  yet  will  death 
wipe  you  from  the  face  of  the  earth  like  the  mice 
underground;  and  your  posterity,  your  history,  and 
the  immortality  of  your  men  of  genius  will  be  as 
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Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

frozen  slag,  burnt  down  together  with  the  terrestrial 
globe. 

"You  are  mad,  and  gone  the  wrong  way.  You 
take  lie  for  truth  and  ugliness  for  beauty.  You 
would  marvel  if  by  certain  conditions  there  should 
suddenly  grow  on  apple  and  orange  trees,  instead  of 
fruit,  frogs  and  lizards,  and  if  roses  should  begin  to 
breathe  the  odour  of  a  sweating  horse.  So  do  I 
marvel  at  you,  who  have  bartered  heaven  for  earth. 
I  do  not  want  to  understand  you. 

"That  I  may  show  you  in  deed  my  contempt  for 
that  by  which  you  live,  I  waive  the  two  millions  of 
which  I  once  dreamed  as  of  paradise,  and  which  I 
now  despise.  That  I  may  deprive  myself  of  my  right 
to  them,  I  shall  come  out  from  here  five  minutes 
before  the  stipulated  term,  and  thus  shall  violate  the 
agreement." 

When  he  had  read,  the  banker  put  the  sheet  on 
the  table,  kissed  the  head  of  the  strange  man,  and 
began  to  weep.  He  went  out  of  the  wing.  Never 
at  any  other  time,  not  even  after  his  terrible  losses 
on  the  Exchange,  had  he  felt  such  contempt  for 
himself  as  now.  Coming  home,  he  lay  down  on  his 
bed,  but  agitation  and  tears  kept  him  long  from 
sleep.  .  .  . 

The  next  morning  the  poor  watchman  came 
running  to  him  and  told  him  that  they  had  seen 
the  man  who  lived  in  the  wing  climbing  through 
the  window  into  the  garden.  He  had  gone  to  the 
gate  and  disappeared.  Together  with  his  servants 
76 


The  Bet 

the  banker  went  instantly  to  the  wing  and  estab- 
lished the  escape  of  his  prisoner.  To  avoid  un- 
necessary rumours  he  took  the  paper  with  the  re- 
nunciation from  the  table  and,  on  his  return,  locked 
it  in  his  safe. 


77 


V 

LA  GRANDE  BRETECHE* 
HONORS  DE  BALZAC 

"AH!  Madame,"  replied  Doctor  Horace  Bian- 
r\  chon  to  the  lady  at  whose  house  he  was 
supping,  "  it  is  true  that  I  have  many  terrible 
histories  in  my  repertory;  but  every  tale  has  its  due 
hour  in  a  conversation,  according  to  the  clever  say- 
ing reported  by  Chamfort  and  said  to  the  Due  de 
Fronsac:  'There  are  ten  bottles  of  champagne 
between  your  joke  and  the  present  moment.' " 

"But  it  is  past  midnight;  what  better  hour  could 
you  have?"  said  the  mistress  of  the  house. 

"Yes,  tell  us,  Monsieur  Bianchon,"  urged  the 
assembled  company. 

At  a  gesture  from  the  complying  doctor,  silence 
reigned. 

"About  a  hundred  yards  from  Venddme, "  he  said, 
"on  the  banks  of  the  Loire,  is  an  old  brown  house, 
covered  with  very  steep  roofs,  and  so  completely 
isolated  that  there  is  not  so  much  as  an  evil-smelling 
tannery,  nor  a  shabby  inn  such  as  you  see  at  the  en- 

*  Translated  by  Katherine  Prescott  Wormeley.  Reprinted  by  per- 
mission of  Little,  Brown,  and  Company. 

73 


La  Grande  Breteche 

trance  of  all  little  towns,  in  its  neighbourhood.  In 
front  of  this  dwelling  is  a  garden  overlooking  the 
river,  where  the  box  edgings,  once  carefully  clipped, 
which  bordered  the  paths,  now  cross  them  and 
straggle  as  they  fancy.  A  few  willows  with  their 
roots  in  the  Loire  have  made  a  rapid  growth,  like  the 
enclosing  hedge,  and  together  they  half  hide  the 
house.  Plants  which  we  call  weeds  drape  the  bank 
toward  the  river  with  their  beautiful  vegetation. 
Fruit-trees,  neglected  for  half  a  score  of  years,  no 
longer  yield  a  product,  and  their  shoots  and  suckers 
have  formed  an  undergrowth.  The  espaliers  are 
like  a  hornbeam  hedge.  The  paths,  formerly  grav- 
elled, are  full  of  purslain;  so  that,  strictly  speaking, 
there  are  no  paths  at  all. 

"  From  the  crest  of  the  mountain,  on  which  hang 
the  ruins  of  the  old  castle  of  Vend6me  (the  only  spot 
whence  the  eye  can  look  down  into  this  enclosure)  we 
say  to  ourselves  that  at  an  earlier  period,  now 
difficult  to  determine,  this  corner  of  the  earth  was 
the  delight  of  some  gentleman  devoted  to  roses  and 
tulips,  in  a  word,  to  horticulture,  but  above  all 
possessing  a  keen  taste  for  good  fruits.  An  arbour 
is  still  standing)  or  rather  the  remains  of  one,  and 
beneath  it  is  a  table  which  time  has  not  yet  com- 
pletely demolished. 

"  From  the  aspect  of  this  garden,  now  no  more,  the 

negative  joys  of  the  peaceful  life  of  the  provinces  can 

be  inferred,  just  as  we  infer  the  life  of  some  worthy 

from  the  epitaph  on  his  tomb.    To  complete  the  sad 

79 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

and  tender  ideas  which  take  possession  of  the  soul,  a 
sundial  on  the  wall  bears  this  inscription,  Christian 
yet  bourgeois,  'ULTTMAM  COGITA.'  The  roofs  are 
dilapidated,  the  blinds  always  closed,  the  balconies 
are  filled  with  swallows'  nests,  the  gates  are  locked. 
Tall  herbs  and  grasses  trace  in  green  lines  the  chinks 
and  crevices  of  the  stone  portico;  the  locks  are 
rusty.  Sun  and  moon,  summer  and  winter  and 
snow  have  rotted  the  wood,  warped  the  planks,  and 
worn  away  the  paint.  The  gloomy  silence  is  un- 
broken save  by  the  birds,  the  cats,  the  martens,  the 
rats,  the  mice,  all  free  to  scamper  or  fly,  and  to 
fight,  and  to  eat  themselves  up. 

"An  invisible  hand  has  written  the  word  'MYS- 
TERY' everywhere.  If,  impelled  by  curiosity,  you 
wish  to  look  at  this  house,  on  the  side  toward  the 
road  you  will  see  a  large  gate  with  an  arched  top,  in 
which  the  children  of  the  neighbourhood  have  made 
large  holes.  This  gate,  as  I  heard  later,  had  been 
disused  for  ten  years.  Through  these  irregular  holes 
you  can  observe  the  perfect  harmony  which  exists 
between  the  garden  side  and  the  courtyard  side  of 
the  premises.  The  same  neglect  everywhere.  Lines 
of  grass  surround  the  paving-stones.  Enormous 
cracks  furrow  the  walls,  the  blackened  eaves  of 
which  are  festooned  with  pellitory.  The  steps  of 
the  portico  are  disjointed,  the  rope  of  the  bell  is 
rotten,  the  gutters  are  dropping  apart.  What  fire 
from  heaven  has  fallen  here?  What  tribunal  has 
ordained  that  salt  be  cast  upon  this  dwelling?  Has 
80 


La  Grande  Breteche 

God  been  mocked  here;  or  France  betrayed?  These 
are  the  questions  we  ask  as  we  stand  there;  the  rep- 
tiles crawl  about  but  they  give  no  answer. 

"This  empty  and  deserted  house  is  a  profound 
enigma,  whose  solution  is  known  to  none.  It  was 
formerly  a  small  fief,  and  is  called  La  Grande 
Breteche.  During  my  stay  at  Vend6me,  where 
Desplein  had  sent  me  in  charge  of  a  rich  patient,  the 
sight  of  this  strange  dwelling  was  one  of  my  keenest 
pleasures.  It  was  better  than  a  ruin.  A  ruin  pos- 
sesses memories  of  positive  authenticity;  but  this 
habitation,  still  standing,  though  slowly  demolished 
by  an  avenging  hand,  contained  some  secret,  some 
mysterious  thought, — it  betrayed  at  least  a  strange 
caprice. 

"More  than  once  of  an  evening  I  jumped  the 
hedge,  now  a  tangle,  which  guarded  the  enclosure. 
I  braved  the  scratches;  I  walked  that  garden  with- 
out a  master,  that  property  which  was  neither  public 
nor  private;  for  hours  I  stayed  there  contemplating 
its  decay.  Not  even  to  obtain  the  history  which 
underlay  (and  to  which  no  doubt  was  due)  this 
strange  spectacle  would  I  have  asked  a  single  ques- 
tion of  any  gossiping  countryman.  Standing  there 
I  invented  enchanting  tales;  I  gave  myself  up  to 
debauches  of  melancholy  which  fascinated  me.  Had 
I  known  the  reason,  perhaps  a  common  one,  for  this 
strange  desertion,  I  should  have  lost  the  unwritten 
poems  with  which  I  intoxicated  myself.  To  me  this 
sanctuary  evoked  the  most  varied  images  of  human 
81 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

life  darkened  by  sorrows;  sometimes  it  was  a  cloister 
without  the  nuns;  sometimes  a  graveyard  and  its 
peace,  without  the  dead  who  talk  to  you  in  epitaphs; 
to-day  the  house  of  the  leper,  to-morrow  that  of  the 
Atrides;  but  above  all  was  it  the  provinces  with  their 
composed  ideas,  their  hour-glass  life. 

"Often  I  wept  there,  but  I  never  smiled.  More 
than  once  an  involuntary  terror  seized  me,  as  I  heard 
above  my  head  the  muffled  whirr  of  a  ringdove's 
wings  hurrying  past.  The  soil  is  damp;  care  must 
be  taken  against  the  lizards,  the  vipers,  the  frogs, 
which  wander  about  with  the  wild  liberty  of  nature; 
above  all,  it  is  well  not  to  fear  cold,  for  there  are 
moments  when  you  feel  an  icy  mantle  laid  upon  your 
shoulders  like  the  hand  of  the  Commander  on  the 
shoulder  of  Don  Juan.  One  evening  I  shuddered; 
the  wind  had  caught  and  turned  a  rusty  vane.  Its 
creak  was  like  a  moan  issuing  from  the  house;  at  a 
moment,  too,  when  I  was  ending  a  gloomy  drama  in 
which  I  explained  to  myself  the  monumental  dolor 
of  that  scene. 

"That  night  I  returned  to  my  inn,  a  prey  to 
gloomy  thoughts.  After  I  had  supped  the  landlady 
entered  my  room  with  a  mysterious  air,  and  said  to 
me,  'Monsieur,  Monsieur  Regnault  is  here.' 

"  'Who  is  Monsieur  Regnault?' 

"  'Is  it  possible  that  monsieur  doesn't  know  Mon- 
sieur Regnault?  Ah,  how  funny!'  she  said,  leaving 
the  room. 

"Suddenly  I  beheld  a  long,  slim  man,  clothed  in 
82 


La  Grande  Breteche 

black,  holding  his  hat  in  his  hand,  who  presented 
himself,  much  like  a  ram  about  to  leap  on  a  rival,  and 
showed  me  a  retreating  forehead,  a  small,  pointed 
head  and  a  livid  face,  in  colour  somewhat  like  a  glass 
of  dirty  water.  You  would  have  taken  him  for  the 
usher  of  a  minister.  This  unknown  personage  wore 
an  old  coat  much  worn  in  the  folds,  but  he  had  a 
diamond  in  the  frill  of  his  shirt,  and  gold  earrings 
in  his  ears. 

"  '  Monsieur,  to  whom  have  I  the  honour  of  speak- 
ing?'I  said. 

"He  took  a  chair,  sat  down  before  my  fire,  laid 
his  hat  on  my  table  and  replied,  rubbing  his  hands: 
'Ah!  it  is  very  cold.  Monsieur,  I  am  Monsieur  Reg- 
nault.' 

" I  bowed,  saying  to  myself:    fll  bondo  canil  seek!' 

"  'I  am,'  he  said,  'the  notary  of  Vend6me.' 

"  'Delighted,  monsieur,'  I  replied,  'but  I  am  not 
in  the  way  of  making  my  will, — for  reasons,  alas,  too 
well-known  to  me.' 

"  'One  moment!'  he  resumed,  raising  his  hand  as 
if  to  impose  silence;  'Permit  me,  monsieur,  permit 
me!  I  have  learned  that  you  sometimes  enter  the 
garden  of  La  Grande  Breteche  and  walk  there — ' 

"  'Yes,  monsieur.' 

"  'One  moment!'  he  said,  repeating  his  gesture. 
'That  action  constitutes  a  misdemeanor.  Monsieur, 
I  come  in  the  name  and  as  testamentary  executor  of 
the  late  Comtesse  de  Merret  to  beg  you  to  discon- 
tinue your  visits.  One  moment!  I  am  not  a  Turk; 
83 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

I  do  not  wish  to  impute  a  crime  to  you.  Besides,  it 
is  quite  excusable  that  you,  a  stranger,  should  be 
ignorant  of  the  circumstances  which  compel  me  to 
let  the  handsomest  house  in  Vend6me  go  to  ruin. 
Nevertheless,  monsieur,  as  you  seem  to  be  a  person 
of  education,  you  no  doubt  know  that  the  law  forbids 
trespassers  on  enclosed  property.  A  hedge  is  the 
same  as  a  wall.  But  the  state  hi  which  that  house  is 
left  may  well  excuse  your  curiosity.  I  should  be  only 
too  glad  to  leave  you  free  to  go  and  come  as  you  liked 
there,  but  charged  as  I  am  to  execute  the  wishes  of 
the  testatrix,  I  have  the  honour,  monsieur,  to  request 
that  you  do  not  again  enter  that  garden.  I  myself, 
monsieur,  have  not,  since  the  reading  of  the  will,  set 
foot  in  that  house,  which,  as  I  have  already  had  the 
honour  to  tell  you,  I  hold  under  the  will  of  Madame 
de  Merret.  We  have  only  taken  account  of  the 
number  of  the  doors  and  windows  so  as  to  assess  the 
taxes  which  I  pay  annually  from  the  funds  left  by 
the  late  countess  for  that  purpose.  Ah,  monsieur, 
that  will  made  a  great  deal  of  noise  in  Venddme!' 

"There  the  worthy  man  paused  to  blow  his  nose. 
I  respected  his  loquacity,  understanding  perfectly 
that  the  testamentary  bequest  of  Madame  de 
Merret  had  been  the  most  important  event  of  his 
life,  the  head  and  front  of  his  reputation,  his  glory, 
his  Restoration.  So  then,  I  must  bid  adieu  to  my 
beautiful  reveries,  my  romances!  I  was  not  so  re- 
bellious as  to  deprive  myself  of  getting  the  truth,  as 
it  were  officially,  out  of  the  man  of  law,  so  I  said, — 
84 


La  Grande  Breteche 

"  'Monsieur,  if  it  is  not  indiscreet,  may  I  ask  the 
reason  of  this  singularity?' 

"At  these  words  a  look  which  expressed  the  pleas- 
ure of  a  man  who  rides  a  hobby  passed  over  Monsieur 
Regnault's  face.  He  pulled  up  his  shirt-collar  with  a 
certain  conceit,  took  out  his  snuff-box,  opened  it, 
offered  it  to  me,  and  on  my  refusal,  took  a  strong 
pinch  himself.  He  was  happy.  A  man  who  hasn't  a 
hobby  doesn't  know  how  much  can  be  got  out  of  life. 
A  hobby  is  the  exact  medium  between  a  passion  and 
a  monomania.  At  that  moment  I  understood 
Sterne's  fine  expression  to  its  fullest  extent,  and  I 
formed  a  complete  idea  of  the  joy  with  which  my 
Uncle  Toby — Trim  assisting — bestrode  his  war- 
horse. 

"  'Monsieur,'  said  Monsieur  Regnault,  'I  was 
formerly  head-clerk  to  Maitre  Roguin  in  Paris.  An 
excellent  lawyer's  office  of  which  you  have  doubtless 
heard?  No!  And  yet  a  most  unfortunate  failure 
made  it,  I  may  say,  celebrated.  Not  having  the 
means  to  buy  a  practice  in  Paris  at  the  price  to  which 
they  rose  in  1816, 1  came  here  to  Venddme,  where  I 
have  relations, — among  them  a  rich  aunt,  who  gave 
me  her  daughter  in  marriage.' 

"Here  he  made  a  slight  pause,  and  then  re- 
sumed: 

"  'Three  months  after  my  appointment  was  rati- 
fied by  Monseigneur  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals,  I  was 
sent  for  one  evening  just  as  I  was  going  to  bed  (I 
was  not  then  married)  by  Madame  la  Comtesse  de 
85 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

Merret,  then  living  in  her  chateau  at  Merret.  Her 
lady's-maid,  an  excellent  girl  who  is  now  serving  in 
this  inn,  was  at  the  door  with  the  countess's  carriage. 
Ah !  one  moment !  I  ought  to  tell  you,  monsieur,  that 
Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Merret  had  gone  to  die  in  Paris 
abbut  two  months  before  I  came  here.  He  died  a 
miserable  death  from  excesses  of  all  kinds,  to  which 
he  gave  himself  up.  You  understand?  Well,  the 
day  of  his  departure  Madame  la  Comtesse  left  La 
Grande  Breteche,  and  dismantled  it.  They  do  say 
that  she  even  burned  the  furniture,  and  the  carpets, 
and  all  appurtenances  whatsoever  and  wheresoever 
contained  on  the  premises  leased  to  the  said — 
Ah!  beg  pardon;  what  am  I  saying?  I  thought  I 
was  dictating  a  lease.  Well,  monsieur,  she  burned 
everything,  they  say,  in  the  meadow  at  Merret. 
Were  you  ever  at  Merret,  monsieur?' 

"Not  waiting  for  me  to  speak,  he  answered  for  me: 
'No.  Ah!  it  is  a  fine  spot?  For  three  months,  or 
thereabouts,'  he  continued,  nodding  his  head,  'Mon- 
sieur le  Comte  and  Madame  la  Comtesse  had  been 
living  at  La  Grande  Breteche  in  a  very  singular  way. 
They  admitted  no  one  to  the  house ;  madame  lived  on 
the  ground-floor,  and  monsieur  on  the  first  floor. 
After  Madame  la  Comtesse  was  left  alone  she  never 
went  to  church.  Later,  in  her  own  chateau  she  re- 
fused to  see  the  friends  who  came  to  visit  her.  She 
changed  greatly  after  she  left  La  Grande  Breteche 
and  came  to  Merret.  That  dear  woman  (I  say  dear, 
though  I  never  saw  her  but  once,  because  she  gave 
86 


La  Grande  Breteche 

me  this  diamond), — that  good  lady  was  very  fll;  no 
doubt  she  had  given  up  all  hope  of  recovery,  for  she 
died  without  calling  in  a  doctor;  in  fact,  some  of  our 
ladies  thought  she  was  not  quite  right  in  her  mind. 
Consequently,  monsieur,  my  curiosity  was  greatly 
excited  when  I  learned  tiuit  Madame  de  Merret  need- 
ed my  services;  and  I  was  not  the  only  one  deeply 
interested;  that  very  night,  though  it  was  late,  the 
whole  town  knew  I  had  gone  to  Merret.' 

"The  good  man  paused  a  moment  to  arrange  his 
facts,  and  then  continued:  'The  lady's  maid  an- 
swered rather  vaguely  the  questions  which  I  put  to 
her  as  we  drove  along;  she  did,  however,  tell  me 
that  her  mistress  had  received  the  last  sacraments 
that  day  from  the  curate  of  Merret,  and  that  she  was 
not  likely  to  live  through  the  night.  I  reached  the 
chateau  about  eleven  o'clock.  I  went  up  the  grand 
staircase.  After  passing  through  a  number  of  dark 
and  lofty  rooms,  horribly  cold  and  damp,  I  entered 
the  state  bedroom  where  Madame  la  Comtesse  was 
lying.  In  consequence  of  the  many  stories  that  were 
told  about  this  lady  (really,  monsieur,  I  should  never 
end  if  I  related  all  of  them)  I  expected  to  find  her  a 
fascinating  coquette.  Would  you  believe  it,  I  could 
scarcely  see  her  at  all  in  the  huge  bed  in  which  she 
lay.  It  is  true  that  the  only  light  in  that  vast  room, 
with  friezes  of  the  old  style  powdered  with  dust 
enough  to  make  you  sneeze  on  merely  looking  at 
them,  was  one  Argand  lamp.  Ah!  but  you  say  you 
have  never  been  at  Merret.  Well,  monsieur,  the  bed 
87 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

was  one  of  those  old-time  beds  with  a  high  tester 
covered  with  flowered  chintz.  A  little  night-table 
stood  by  the  bed,  and  on  it  I  noticed  a  copy  of  the 
"Imitation  of  Christ." 

"  'Allow  me  a  parenthesis,'  he  said,  interrupting 
himself.  'I  bought  that  book  subsequently,  also  the 
lamp,  and  presented  them  to  my  wife.  In  the  room 
was  a  large  sofa  for  the  woman  who  was  taking  care 
of  Madame  de  Merret,  and  two  chairs.  That  was  all. 
No  fire.  The  whole  would  not  have  made  ten  lines 
of  an  inventory.  Ah!  my  dear  monsieur,  could  you 
have  seen  her  as  I  saw  her  then,  in  that  vast  room 
hung  with  brown  tapestry,  you  would  have  imagined 
you  were  in  the  pages  of  a  novel.  It  was  glacial, — 
better  than  that,  funereal/  added  the  worthy  man, 
raising  his  arm  theatrically  and  making  a  pause. 
Presently  he  resumed: 

"  'By  dint  of  peering  round  and  coming  close  to 
the  bed  I  at  length  saw  Madame  de  Merret,  thanks 
to  the  lamp  which  happened  to  shine  on  the  pillows. 
Her  face  was  as  yellow  as  wax,  and  looked  like  two 
hands  joined  together.  Madame  la  Comtesse  wore 
a  lace  cap,  which,  however,  allowed  me  to  see  her 
fine  hair,  white  as  snow.  She  was  sitting  up  in  the 
bed,  but  apparently  did  so  with  difficulty.  Her  large 
black  eyes,  sunken  no  doubt  with  fever,  and  almost 
lifeless,  hardly  moved  beneath  the  bones  where  the 
eyebrows  usually  grow.  Her  forehead  was  damp. 
Her  fleshless  hands  were  like  bones  covered  with 
thin  skin;  the  veins  and  muscles  could  all  be  seen. 
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La  Grande  Breteche 

She  must  once  have  been  very  handsome,  but  now 
I  was  seized  with — I  couldn't  tell  you  what  feeling, 
as  I  looked  at  her.  Those  who  buried  her  said  after- 
ward that  no  living  creature  had  ever  been  as  wasted 
as  she  without  dying.  Well,  it  was  awful  to  see. 
Some  mortal  disease  had  eaten  up  that  woman  till 
there  was  nothing  left  of  her  but  a  phantom.  Her 
lips,  of  a  pale  violet,  seemed  not  to  move  when  she 
spoke.  Though  my  profession  had  familiarised  me 
with  such  scenes,  in  bringing  me  often  to  the  bedside 
of  the  dying,  to  receive  their  last  wishes,  I  must  say 
that  the  tears  and  the  anguish  of  families  and 
friends  which  I  have  witnessed  were  as  nothing  com- 
pared to  this  solitary  woman  in  that  vast  building. 
I  did  not  hear  the  slightest  noise,  I  did  not  see  the 
movement  which  the  breathing  of  the  dying  woman 
would  naturally  give  to  the  sheet  that  covered  her; 
I  myself  remained  motionless,  looking  at  her  hi  a 
sort  of  stupor.  Indeed,  I  fancy  I  am  there  still.  At 
last  her  large  eyes  moved;  she  tried  to  lift  her  right 
hand,  which  fell  back  upon  the  bed;  then  these 
words  issued  from  her  lips  like  a  breath,  for  her 
voice  was  no  longer  a  voice, — 

"  '  "I  have  awaited  you  with  impatience." 
"  'Her  cheeks  coloured.    The  effort  to  speak  was 
great.    The  old  woman  who  was  watching  her  here 
rose   and  whispered  in  my  ear:    "Don't  speak; 
Madame  la  Comtesse  is  past  hearing  the  slightest 
sound;  you  would  only  agitate  her."    I  sat  down. 
A  few  moments  later  Madame  de  Merret  collected 
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all  her  remaining  strength  to  move  her  right  arm 
and  put  it,  not  without  great  difficulty,  under  her 
bolster.  She  paused  an  instant;  then  she  made  a 
last  effort  and  withdrew  her  hand  which  now  held  a 
sealed  paper.  Great  drops  of  sweat  rolled  from  her 
forehead. 

"'"I  give  you  my  will,"  she  said.  "Oh,  my 
God!  Oh!" 

" '  That  was  all.  She  seized  a  crucifix  which  lay  on 
her  bed,  pressed  it  to  her  lips,  and  died.  The  ex- 
pression of  her  fixed  eyes  still  makes  me  shudder 
when  I  think  of  it.  I  brought  away  the  will.  When 
it  was  opened  I  found  that  Madame  de  Merret  had 
appointed  me  her  executor.  She  bequeathed  her 
whole  property  to  the  hospital  of  Vend6me,  save 
and  excepting  certain  bequests.  The  following 
disposition  was  made  of  La  Grande  Breteche.  I 
was  directed  to  leave  it  in  the  state  in  which  it  was 
at  the  tune  of  her  death  for  a  period  of  fifty  years 
from  the  date  of  her  decease;  I  was  to  forbid  all 
access  to  it,  by  any-  and  everyone,  no  matter  who; 
to  make  no  repairs,  and  to  put  by  from  her  estate 
a  yearly  sum  to  pay  watchers,  if  they  were  neces- 
sary, to  insure  the  faithful  execution  of  these  inten- 
tions. At  the  expiration  of  that  time  the  estate 
was,  if  the  testatrix's  will  had  been  carried  out  in  all 
particulars,  to  belong  to  my  heirs  (because,  as  mon- 
sieur is  doubtless  well  aware,  notaries  are  forbidden 
by  law  to  receive  legacies);  if  otherwise,  then  La 
Grande  Breteche  was  to  go  to  whoever  might  estab- 
90 


La  Grande  Breteche 

lish  a  right  to  it,  but  on  condition  of  fulfilling  certain 
orders  contained  in  a  codicil  annexed  to  the  will  and 
not  to  be  opened  until  the  expiration  of  the  fifty  years. 
The  will  has  never  been  attacked,  consequently — * 

"Here  the  oblong  notary,  without  finishing  his 
sentence,  looked  at  me  triumphantly.  I  made  him 
perfectly  happy  with  a  few  compliments. 

"  'Monsieur,'  I  said,  hi  conclusion,  'you  have  so 
deeply  impressed  that  scene  upon  me  that  I  seem  to 
see  the  dying  woman,  whiter  than  the  sheets;  those 
glittering  eyes  horrify  me;  I  shall  dream  of  her  all 
night.  But  you  must  have  formed  some  conjectures 
as  to  the  motive  of  that  extraordinary  will.' 

"  ' Monsieur,'  he  replied,  with  comical  reserve,  'I 
never  permit  myself  to  judge  of  the  motives  of  those 
who  honour  me  with  the  gift  of  a  diamond.' 

"  However,  I  managed  to  unloose  the  tongue  of  the 
scrupulous  notary  so  far  that  he  told  me,  not  without 
long  digressions,  certain  opinions  on  the  matter 
emanating  from  the  wise-heads  of  both  sexes  whose 
judgments  made  the  social  law  of  Vend6me.  But 
these  opinions  and  observations  were  so  contradic- 
tory, so  diffuse,  that  I  well-nigh  went  to  sleep  in  spite 
of  the  interest  I  felt  in  this  authentic  story.  The 
heavy  manner  and  monotonous  accent  of  the  notary, 
who  was  no  doubt  in  the  habit  of  listening  to  himself 
and  making  his  clients  and  compatriots  listen  to 
him,  triumphed  over  my  curiosity.  Happily,  he 
did  at  last  go  away. 

"  'Ha,  ha!  monsieur,'  he  said  to  me  at  the  head  of 
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the  stairs,  'many  persons  would  like  to  live  their 
forty-five  years  longer,  but,  one  moment!' — here  he 
laid  the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  on  his  nose  as  if 
he  meant  to  say,  Now  pay  attention  to  this! — 'in 
order  to  do  that,  to  do  that,  they  ought  to  skip  the 
sixties.' 

"I  shut  my  door,  the  notary's  jest,  which  he 
thought  very  witty,  having  drawn  me  from  my 
apathy;  then  I  sat  down  in  my  armchair  and  put 
both  feet  on  the  andirons.  I  was  plunged  in  a 
romance  a  la  Radclifife,  based  on  the  notarial  dis- 
closures of  Monsieur  Regnault,  when  my  door, 
softly  opened  by  the  hand  of  a  woman,  turned  noise- 
lessly on  its  hinges. 

"  I  saw  my  landlady,  a  jovial,  stout  woman,  with  a 
fine,  good-humoured  face,  who  had  missed  her  true 
surroundings;  she  was  from  Flanders,  and  might 
have  stepped  out  of  a  picture  by  Teniers. 

"  'Well,  monsieur,'  she  said,  'Monsieur  Regnault 
has  no  doubt  recited  to  you  his  famous  tale  of  La 
Grande  Breteche?' 

"  'Yes,  Madame Lepas/ 

"'What  did  he  tell  you?' 

"I  repeated  in  a  few  words  the  dark  and  chilling 
story  of  Madame  de  Merret  as  imparted  to  me  by 
the  notary.  At  each  sentence  my  landlady  ran  out 
her  chin  and  looked  at  me  with  the  perspicacity  of 
an  inn-keeper,  which  combines  the  instinct  of  a 
policeman,  the  astuteness  of  a  spy,  and  the  cunning 
of  a  shopkeeper. 

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La  Grande  Breteche 

"  'My  dear  Madame  Lepas,'  I  added,  in  conclu- 
sion, 'you  evidently  know  more  than  that.  If  not, 
why  did  you  come  up  here  to  me?' 

"  'On  the  word,  now,  of  an  honest  woman,  just  as 
true  as  my  name  is  Lepas — ' 

"  'Don't  swear,  for  your  eyes  are  full  of  the  secret 
You  knew  Monsieur  de  Merret.  What  sort  of  man 
was  he?' 

"  'Goodness!  Monsieur  de  Merret?  well,  you  see, 
he  was  a  handsome  man,  so  tall  you  never  could  see 
the  top  of  him, — a  very  worthy  gentleman  from 
Picardy,  who  had,  as  you  may  say,  a  temper  of 
his  own;  and  he  knew  it.  He  paid  everyone  in 
cash  so  as  to  have  no  quarrels.  But,  I  tell  you, 
he  could  be  quick.  Our  ladies  thought  him  very 
pleasant.' 

" '  Because  of  his  temper?*    I  asked. 

"  'Perhaps,'  she  replied.  *You  know,  monsieur,  a 
man  must  have  something  to  the  fore,  as  they  say,  to 
marry  a  lady  like  Madame  de  Merret,  who,  without 
disparaging  others,  was  the  handsomest  and  the  rich- 
est woman  in  Vend6me.  She  had  an  income  of 
nearly  twenty  thousand  francs.  All  the  town  was 
at  the  wedding.  The  bride  was  so  dainty  and  capti- 
vating, a  real  little  jewel  of  a  woman.  Ah!  they  were 
a  fine  couple  in  those  days!' 

"  'Was  their  home  a  happy  one?' 

"  'Hum,  hum!  yes  and  no,  so  far  as  anyone  can 
say;  for  you  know  well  enough  that  the  like  of  us 
don't  live  hand  and  glove  with  the  like  of  them. 
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Madame  de  Merret  was  a  good  woman  and  very 
charming,  who  no  doubt  had  to  bear  a  good  deal 
from  her  husband's  temper;  we  all  liked  her  though 
she  was  rather  haughty.  Bah !  that  was  her  bringing 
up,  and  she  was  bom  so.  When  people  are  noble — 
don't  you  see?' 

"  '  Yes,  but  there  must  have  been  some  terrible 
catastrophe,  for  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Merret 
to  separate  violently.' 

"  'I  never  said  there  was  a  catastrophe,  monsieur; 
I  know  nothing  about  it.' 

"  'Very  good;  now  I  am  certain  that  you  know 
all.' 

"  'Well,  monsieur,  I'll  tell  you  all  I  do  know. 
When  I  saw  Monsieur  Regnault  coming  after  you  I 
knew  he  would  tell  you  about  Madame  de  Merret 
and  La  Grande  Breteche;  and  that  gave  me  the  idea 
of  consulting  monsieur,  who  seems  to  be  a  gentleman 
of  good  sense,  incapable  of  betraying  a  poor  woman 
like  me,  who  has  never  done  harm  to  anyone,  but 
who  is,  somehow,  troubled  in  her  conscience.  I  have 
never  dared  to  say  a  word  to  the  people  about  here, 
for  they  are  all  gossips,  with  tongues  like  steel  blades. 
And  there's  never  been  a  traveller  who  has  stayed  as 
long  as  you  have,  monsieur,  to  whom  I  could  tell  all 
about  the  fifteen  thousand  francs — 

"  'My  dear  Madame  Lepas,'  I  replied,  trying  to 
stop  the  flow  of  words,  'if  your  confidence  is  of  a 
nature  to  compromise  me,  I  wouldn't  hear  it  for 
worlds.' 

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La  Grande  Breteche 

"  'Oh,  don't  be  afraid,'  she  said,  interrupting  me. 
'You'll  see—' 

"This  haste  to  tell  made  me  quite  certain  I  was 
not  the  first  to  whom  my  good  landlady  had  com- 
municated the  secret  of  which  I  was  to  be  the  sole 
repository,  so  I  listened. 

"  'Monsieur,'  she  said,  'when  the  Emperor  sent 
the  Spanish  and  other  prisoners  of  war  to  Venddme 
I  lodged  one  of  them  (at  the  cost  of  the  government), 
— a  young  Spaniard  on  parole.  But  in  spite  of  his 
parole  he  had  to  report  every  day  to  the  sub-prefect. 
He  was  a  grandee  of  Spain,  with  a  name  that  ended 
in  os  and  in  dia,  like  all  Spaniards — Bagos  de  Feredia. 
I  wrote  his  name  on  the  register,  and  you  can  see  it 
if  you  like.  Oh,  he  was  a  handsome  young  fellow 
for  a  Spaniard,  who,  they  tell  me,  are  all  ugly.  He 
wasn't  more  than  five  feet  two  or  three  inches,  but 
he  was  well  made.  He  had  pretty  little  hands  which 
he  took  care  of — ah,  you  should  just  have  seen  him! 
He  had  as  many  brushes  for  those  hands  as  a  woman 
has  for  her  head.  He  had  fine  black  hah-,  a  fiery  eye, 
a  rather  copper-coloured  skin,  but  it  was  pleasant  to 
look  at  all  the  same.  He  wore  the  finest  linen  I  ever 
saw  on  anyone,  and  I  have  lodged  princesses,  and, 
among  others,  General  Bertrand,  the  Due  and  Duch- 
esse  d'Abrantes,  Monsieur  Decazes,  and  the  King  of 
Spain.  He  didn't  eat  much;  but  he  had  such  polite 
manners  and  was  always  so  amiable  that  I  couldn't 
find  fault  with  him.  Oh!  I  did  really  love  him, 
though  he  never  said  four  words  a  day  to  me;  if 
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anyone  spoke  to  him,  he  never  answered, — that's 
an  oddity  those  grandees  have,  a  sort  of  mania,  so 
I'm  told.  He  read  his  breviary  like  a  priest,  and  he 
went  to  mass  and  to  all  the  services  regularly.  Where 
do  you  think  he  sat?  close  to  the  chapel  of  Madame 
de  Merret.  But  as  he  took  that  place  the  first  time 
he  went  to  church  nobody  attached  any  importance 
to  the  fact,  though  it  was  remembered  later.  Be- 
sides, he  never  took  his  eyes  off  his  prayer-book, 
poor  young  man!' 

"My  jovial  landlady  paused  a  moment,  over- 
come with  her  recollections;  then  she  continued 
her  tale: 

"  'From  that  time  on,  monsieur,  he  used  to  walk 
up  the  mountain  every  evening  to  the  ruins  of  the 
castle.  It  was  his  only  amusement,  poor  man!  and  I 
dare  say  it  recalled  his  own  country;  they  say  Spain 
is  all  mountains.  From  the  first  he  was  always  late 
at  night  in  coming  in.  I  used  to  be  uneasy  at  never 
seeing  him  before  the  stroke  of  midnight;  but  we 
got  accustomed  to  his  ways  and  gave  him  a  key  to 
the  door,  so  that  we  didn't  have  to  sit  up.  It  so 
happened  that  one  of  our  grooms  told  us  that  one 
evening  when  he  went  to  bathe  his  horses  he  thought 
he  saw  the  grandee  in  the  distance,  swimming  hi  the 
river  like  a  fish.  When  he  came  in  I  told  him  he  had 
better  take  care  not  to  get  entangled  in  the  sedges; 
he  seemed  annoyed  that  anyone  had  seen  him  in  the 
water.  Well,  monsieur,  one  day,  or  rather,  one 
morning,  we  did  not  find  him  in  his  room;  he  had 
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La  Grande  Breteche 

not  come  in.  He  never  returned.  I  looked  about 
and  into  everything,  and  at  last  I  found  a  writing  in 
a  table  drawer  where  had  put  away  fifty  of  those 
Spanish  gold  coins  called  "portugaise,"  which  bring 
a  hundred  francs  apiece;  there  were  also  diamonds 
worth  ten  thousand  francs  sealed  up  in  a  little  box. 
The  paper  said  that  in  case  he  should  not  return  some 
day,  he  bequeathed  to  us  the  money  and  the  dia- 
monds, with  a  request  to  found  masses  of  thanksgiv- 
ing to  God  for  his  escape  and  safety.  In  those  days 
my  husband  was  living,  and  he  did  everything  he 
could  to  find  the  young  man.  But,  it  was  the  queer- 
est thing!  he  found  only  the  Spaniard's  clothes  under 
a  big  stone  in  a  sort  of  shed  on  the  banks  of  the  river, 
on  the  castle  side,  just  opposite  to  La  Grande 
Breteche.  My  husband  went  so  early  in  the  morning 
that  no  one  saw  him.  He  burned  the  clothes  after 
we  had  read  the  letter,  and  gave  out,  as  Comte 
Feredia  requested,  that  he  had  fled.  The  sub-prefect 
sent  the  whole  gendarmerie  on  his  traces,  but  bless 
your  heart!  they  never  caught  him.  Lepas  thought 
the  Spaniard  had  drowned  himself.  But,  monsieur, 
I  never  thought  so.  I  think  he  was  somehow  mixed 
up,  hi  Madame  de  Merret's  trouble;  and  I'll  tell  you 
why.  Rosalie  has  told  me  that  her  mistress  had  a 
crucifix  she  valued  so  much  that  she  was  buried  with 
it,  and  it  was  made  of  ebony  and  silver;  now  when 
Monsieur  de  Feredia  first  came  to  lodge  with  us  he 
had  just  such  a  crucifix,  but  I  soon  missed  it.  Now, 
monsieur,  what  do  you  say?  isn't  it  true  that  I  need 
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have  no  remorse  about  those  fifteen  thousand  francs? 
are  not  they  rightfully  mine?' 

"  'Of  course  they  are.  But  how  is  it  you  have 
never  questioned  Rosalie?'  I  said. 

"  'Oh,  I  have,  monsieur;  but  I  can  get  nothing  out 
of  her.  That  girl  is  a  stone  wall.  She  knows  some- 
thing, but  there  is  no  making  her  talk.' 

"After  a  few  more  remarks,  my  landlady  left  me, 
a  prey  to  a  romantic  curiosity,  to  vague  and  darkling 
thoughts,  to  a  religious  terror  that  was  something 
like  the  awe  which  comes  upon  us  when  we  enter  by 
night  a  gloomy  church  and  see  in  the  distance  be- 
neath the  arches  a  feeble  light;  a  formless  figure 
glides  before  us,  the  sweep  of  a  robe — of  priest  or 
woman — is  heard;  we  shudder.  La  Grande  Breteche, 
with  its  tall  grasses,  its  shuttered  windows,  its  rusty 
railings,  its  barred  gates,  its  deserted  rooms,  rose 
fantastically  and  suddenly  before  me.  I  tried  to 
penetrate  that  mysterious  dwelling  and  seek  the 
knot  of  this  most  solemn  history,  this  drama  which 
had  killed  three  persons. 

"Rosalie  became  to  my  eyes  the  most  interesting 
person  in  Venddme.  Examining  her,  I  discovered 
the  traces  of  an  ever-present  inward  thought.  In 
spite  of  the  health  which  bloomed  upon  her  dimpled 
face,  there  was  in  her  some  element  of  remorse,  or  of 
hope;  her  attitude  bespoke  a  secret,  like  that  of 
devotees  who  pray  with  ardour,  or  that  of  a  girl  who 
has  killed  her  child  and  forever  after  hears  its  cry. 
And  yet  her  postures  were  naive,  and  even  vulgar; 
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La  Grande  Breteche 

her  silly  smile  was  surely  not  criminal;  you  would 
have  judged  her  innocent  if  only  by  the  large  necker- 
chief of  blue  and  red  squares  which  covered  her 
vigorous  bust,  clothed,  confined,  and  set  off  by  a 
gown  of  purple  and  white  stripes.  'No/  thought  I; 
'I  will  not  leave  Venddme  without  knowing  the  his- 
tory of  La  Grande  Breteche.  I'll  even  make  love  to 
Rosalie,  if  it  is  absolutely  necessary.' 

"  'Rosalie!'  I  said  to  her  one  day. 

"  'What  is  it,  monsieur?' 

"  'You  are  not  married,  are  you?' 

She  trembled  slightly. 

"  'Oh!  when  the  fancy  takes  me  to  be  unhappy 
there'll  be  no  lack  of  men,'  she  said,  laughing. 

"She  recovered  instantly  from  her  emotion,  what- 
ever it  was;  for  all  women,  from  the  great  lady  to 
the  chambermaid  of  an  inn,  have  a  self-possession  of 
their  own. 

"  'You  are  fresh  enough  and  taking  enough  to 
please  a  lover,'  I  said,  watching  her.  'But  tell  me, 
Rosalie,  why  did  you  take  a  place  at  an  inn  after  you 
left  Madame  de  Merret?  Didn't  she  leave  you  an 
annuity?' 

"  'Oh,  yes,  she  did.  But,  monsieur,  my  place  is 
the  best  in  all  Venddme.' 

"This  answer  was  evidently  what  judges  and 
lawyers  call  'dilatory.'  Rosalie's  position  in  this 
romantic  history  was  like  that  of  a  square  on  a 
checkerboard;  she  was  at  the  very  centre,  as  it  were, 
of  its  truth  and  its  interest;  she  seemed  to  me  to  be 
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tied  into  the  knot  of  it.  The  last  chapter  of  the  tale 
was  in  her,  and,  from  the  moment  that  1  realized 
this,  Rosalie  became  to  me  an  object  of  attraction. 
By  dint  of  studying  the  girl  I  came  to  find  in  her,  as 
we  do  in  every  woman  whom  we  make  a  principal 
object  of  our  attention,  that  she  had  a  host  of  good 
qualities.  She  was  clean,  and  careful  of  herself, 
and  therefore  handsome.  Some  two  or  three  weeks 
after  the  notary's  visit  I  said  to  her,  suddenly: 
'Tell  me  all  you  know  about  Madame  de  Merret.' 

"  'Oh,  no!'  she  replied,  in  a  tone  of  terror,  'don't 
ask  me  that,  monsieur.' 

"  I  persisted  in  urging  her.  Her  pretty  face  dark- 
ened, her  bright  colour  faded,  her  eyes  lost  their 
innocent,  liquid  light. 

"  'Well!'  she  said,  after  a  pause,  'if  you  will  have 
it  so,  I  will  tell  you;  but  keep  the  secret.' 

"  'I'll  keep  it  with  the  faithfulness  of  a  thief, 
which  is  the  most  loyal  to  be  found  anywhere.' 

"  'If  it  is  the  same  to  you,  monsieur,  I'd  rather 
you  kept  it  with  your  own.' 

"Thereupon,  she  adjusted  her  neckerchief  and 
posed  herself  to  tell  the  tale;  for  it  is  very  certain 
that  an  attitude  of  confidence  and  security  is  desir- 
able in  order  to  make  a  narration.  The  best  tales 
are  told  at  special  hours, — like  that  in  which  we  are 
now  at  table.  No  one  ever  told  a  story  well,  stand- 
ing or  fasting. 

"If  I  were  to  reproduce  faithfully  poor  Rosalie's 
diffuse  eloquence,  a  whole  volume  would  scarce 
100 


La  Grande  Breteche 

suffice.  But  as  the  event  of  which  she  now  gave  me 
a  hazy  knowledge  falls  into  place  between  the  facts 
revealed  by  the  garrulity  of  the  notary,  and  that  of 
Madame  Lepas,  as  precisely  as  the  mean  terms  of  an 
arithmetical  proposition  lie  between  its  two  ex- 
tremes, all  I  have  to  do  is  to  tell  it  to  you  in  few 
words.  I  therefore  give  a  summary  of  what  I 
heard  from  Rosalie. 

"The  chamber  which  Madame  de  Merret  occupied 
at  La  Grande  Breteche  was  on  the  ground-floor.  A 
small  closet  about  four  feet  in  depth  was  made  in  the 
wall,  and  served  as  a  wardrobe.  Three  months 
before  the  evening  when  the  facts  I  am  about  to 
relate  to  you  happened,  Madame  de  Merret  had 
been  so  seriously  unwell  that  her  husband  left  her 
alone  in  her  room  and  slept  himself  in  a  chamber  on 
the  first  floor.  By  one  of  those  mere  chances  which 
it  is  impossible  to  foresee,  he  returned,  on  the  even- 
ing in  question,  two  hours  later  than  usual  from  the 
club  where  he  went  habitually  to  read  the  papers 
and  talk  politics  with  the  inhabitants  of  the  town. 
His  wife  thought  him  at  home  and  in  bed  and  asleep. 
But  the  invasion  of  France  had  been  the  subject  of  a 
lively  discussion;  the  game  of  billiards  was  a  heated 
one;  he  had  lost  forty  francs,  an  enormous  sum 
for  Vendome,  where  everybody  hoards  his  money, 
and  where  manners  and  customs  are  restrained 
within  modest  limits  worthy  of  all  praise, — which 
may,  perhaps,  be  the  source  of  a  certain  true  happi- 
ness which  no  Parisian  cares  anything  at  all  about. 
101 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

"For  some  time  past  Monsieur  de  Merret  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  asking  Rosalie,  when  he  came 
in,  if  his  wife  were  in  bed.  Being  told,  invariably, 
that  she  was,  he  at  once  went  to  his  own  room  with 
the  contentment  that  comes  of  confidence  and 
custom.  This  evening,  on  returning  home,  he  took 
it  into  his  head  to  go  to  Madame  de  Merret's 
room  and  tell  her  his  ill-luck,  perhaps  to  be  con- 
soled for  it.  During  dinner  he  had  noticed 
that  his  wife  was  coquettishly  dressed;  and  as 
he  came  from  the  club  the  thought  crossed  his 
mind  that  she  was  no  longer  ill,  that  her  conval- 
escence had  made  her  lovelier  than  ever, — a  fact 
he  perceived,  as  husbands  are  wont  to  perceive 
things,  too  late. 

"Instead  of  calling  Rosalie,  who  at  that  moment 
was  hi  the  kitchen  watching  a  corrplicated  game  of 
'brisque,'  at  which  the  cook  and  the  coachman  were 
playing,  Monsieur  de  Merret  went  straight  to  his 
wife's  room  by  the  light  of  his  lantern,  which  he  had 
placed  on  the  first  step  of  the  stairway.  His  step, 
which  was  easily  recognized,  resounded  under  the 
arches  of  the  corridor.  Just  as  he  turned  the  handle 
of  his  wife's  door  he  fancied  he  heard  the  door  of 
the  closet,  which  I  mentioned  to  you,  shut;  but  when 
he  entered,  Madame  de  Merret  was  alone,  standing 
before  the  fireplace.  The  husband  thought  to 
himself  that  Rosalie  must  be  in  the  closet;  and  yet  a 
suspicion,  which  sounded  in  his  ears  like  the  ringing 
of  bells,  made  him  distrustful.  He  looked  at  his 
102 


La  Grande  Breteche 

wife,  and  fancied  he  saw  something  wild  and  troubled 
in  her  eyes. 

'  'You  are  late  in  coming  home,'  she  said.  That 
voice,  usually  so  pure  and  gracious,  seemed  to  him 
slightly  changed. 

"Monsieur  de  Merret  made  no  answer,  for  at  that 
moment  Rosalie  entered  the  room.  Her  appearance 
was  a  thunderbolt  to  him.  He  walked  up  and  down 
the  room  with  his  arms  crossed,  going  from  one 
window  to  another  with  a  uniform  movement. 

"'Have  you  heard  anything  to  trouble  you?' 
asked  his  wife,  timidly,  while  Rosalie  was  undressing 
her.  He  made  no  answer. 

"'You  can  leave  the  room,'  said  Madame  de 
Merret  to  the  maid.  'I  will  arrange  my  hair  my- 
self.' 

"She  guessed  some  misfortune  at  the  mere  sight  of 
her  husband's  face,  and  wished  to  be  alone  with  him. 

"When  Rosalie  was  gone,  or  supposed  to  be  gone, 
for  she  went  no  further  than  the  corridor,  Monsieur 
de  Merret  came  to  his  wife  and  stood  before  her. 
Then  he  said,  coldly: 

"  '  Madame,  there  is  someone  in  your  closet.' 

"She  looked  at  her  husband  with  a  calm  air,  and 
answered,  'No,  monsieur.' 

"That  'no'  agonised  Monsieur  de  Merret,  for  he 
did  not  believe  it.  And  yet  his  wife  had  never 
seemed  purer  nor  more  saintly  than  she  did  at  that 
moment.  He  rose  and  went  toward  the  closet  to 
open  the  door;  Madame  de  Merret  took  him  by  the 
103 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

hand  and  stopped  him;  she  looked  at  him  with  a  sad 
air  and  said,  in  a  voice  that  was  strangely  shaken: 
'If  you  find  no  one,  remember  that  all  is  over  be- 
tween us.' 

"The  infinite  dignity  of  his  wife's  demeanour 
restored  her  husband's  respect  for  her,  and  suddenly 
inspired  him  with  one  of  those  resolutions  which 
need  some  wider  field  to  become  immortal. 

"  'No,  Josephine,'  he  said,  'I  will  not  look  there. 
In  either  case  we  should  be  separated  forever. 
Listen  to  me:  I  know  the  purity  of  your  soul,  I 
know  that  you  lead  a  saintly  life;  you  would  not 
commit  a  mortal  sin  to  save  yourself  from 
death.' 

"At  these  words,  Madame  de  Merret  looked  at 
her  husband  with  a  haggard  eye. 

"  'Here  is  your  crucifix,'  he  went  on.  'Swear  to 
me  before  God  that  there  is  no  one  in  that  closet  and 
I  will  believe  you;  I  will  not  open  that  door.' 

"Madame  de  Merret  took  the  crucifix  and  said, 
'I  swear  it.' 

"  'Louder!'  said  her  husband;  'repeat  after  me, — 
I  swear  before  God  that  there  is  no  person  in  that 
closet.' 

"She  repeated  the  words  composedly. 

"  'That  is  well,'  said  Monsieur  de  Merret,  coldly. 
After  a  moment's  silence  he  added,  examining  the 
ebony  crucifix  inlaid  with  silver,  'That  is  a  beautiful 
thing;  I  did  not  know  you  possessed  it;  it  is  very 
artistically  wrought.' 

;104 


La  Grande  Breteche 

"  'I  found  it  at  Duvivier's,'  she  replied;  'he bought 
it  of  a  Spanish  monk  when  those  prisoners-of-war 
passed  through  Vend6me  last  year.' 

"'Ah!'  said  Monsieur  de  Merret,  replacing  the 
crucifix  on  the  wall.  He  rang  the  bell.  Rosalie  was 
not  long  in  answering  it.  Monsieur  de  Merret  went 
quickly  up  to  her,  took  her  into  the  recess  of  a 
window  on  the  garden  side,  and  said  to  her  in  a  low 
voice: — 

"  'I  am  told  that  Gorenflot  wants  to  marry  you, 
and  that  poverty  alone  prevents  it,  for  you  have  told 
him  you  will  not  be  his  wife  until  he  is  a  master- 
mason.  Is  that  so?' 

"  'Yes,  monsieur.' 

"  'Well,  go  and  find  him;  tell  him  to  come  here  at 
once  and  bring  his  trowel  and  other  tools.  Take 
care  not  to  wake  anyone  at  his  house  but  himself; 
he  will  soon  have  enough  money  to  satisfy  you.  No 
talking  to  anyone  when  you  leave  this  room,  mind, 
or—' 

"He  frowned.  Rosalie  left  the  room.  He  called 
her  back;  'Here,  take  my  pass-key,'  he  said. 

"Monsieur  de  Merret,  who  had  kept  his  wife  in 
view  while  giving  these  orders,  now  sat  down  beside 
her  before  the  fire  and  began  to  tell  her  of  his  game  of 
billiards,  and  the  political  discussions  at  the  club. 
When  Rosalie  returned  she  found  Monsieur  and 
Madame  de  Merret  talking  amicably. 

"The  master  had  lately  had  the  ceilings  of  all  the 
reception  rooms  on  the  lower  floor  restored.  Plaster 
105 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

is  very  scarce  at  Venddme,  and  the  carriage  of  it 
makes  it  expensive.  Monsieur  de  Merret  had  there- 
fore ordered  an  ample  quantity  for  his  own  wants, 
knowing  that  he  could  readily  find  buyers  for  what 
was  left.  This  circumstance  inspired  the  idea  that 
now  possessed  him. 

"  'Monsieur,  Gorenflot  has  come,'  said  Rosalie. 

"  'Bring  him  in,'  said  her  master. 

"Madame  de  Merret  turned  slightly  pale  when  she 
saw  the  mason. 

"'Gorenflot,'  said  her  husband,  'fetch  some 
bricks  from  the  coach-house, — enough  to  wall  up 
that  door;  use  the  plaster  that  was  left  over  to 
cover  the  wall.' 

"Then  he  called  Rosalie  and  the  mason  to  the  end 
of  the  room,  and,  speaking  in  a  low  voice,  added, 
'Listen  to  me,  Gorenflot;  after  you  have  done  this 
work  you  will  sleep  in  the  house;  and  to-morrow 
morning  I  will  give  you  a  passport  into  a  foreign 
country,  and  six  thousand  francs  for  the  journey. 
Go  through  Paris  where  I  will  meet  you.  There,  I 
will  secure  to  you  legally  another  six  thousand 
francs,  to  be  paid  to  you  at  the  end  of  ten  years  if 
you  still  remain  out  of  France.  For  this  sum,  I 
demand  absolute  silence  on  what  you  see  and  do 
this  night.  As  for  you,  Rosalie,  I  give  you  a  dowry 
of  ten  thousand  francs,  on  condition  that  you  marry 
Gorenflot,  and  keep  silence,  if  not — ' 

"'Rosalie,'  said  Madame  de  Merret,  'come  and 
brush  my  hair.' 

106 


La  Grande  Breteche 

"The  husband  walked  up  and  down  the  room, 
watching  the  door,  the  mason,  and  his  wife,  but 
without  allowing  the  least  distrust  or  misgiving  to 
appear  in  his  manner.  Gorenflot's  work  made  some 
noise;  under  cover  of  it  Madame  de  Merret  said 
hastily  to  Rosalie,  while  her  husband  was  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  room:  'A  thousand  francs 
annuity  if  you  tell  Gorenflot  to  leave  a  crevice  at  the 
bottom;'  then  aloud  she  added,  composedly,  'Go 
and  help  the  mason.' 

"Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Merret  remained 
silent  during  the  whole  time  it  took  Gorenflot  to 
wall  up  the  door.  The  silence  was  intentional  on 
the  part  of  the  husband  to  deprive  his  wife  of  all 
chance  of  saying  words  with  a  double  meaning  which 
might  be  heard  within  the  closet;  with  Madame  de 
Merret  it  was  either  prudence  or  pride. 

"When  the  wall  was  more  than  half  up,  the 
mason's  tool  broke  one  of  the  panes  of  glass  in  the 
closet  door;  Monsieur  de  Merret's  back  was  at  that 
moment  turned  away.  The  action  proved  to 
Madame  de  Merret  that  Rosalie  had  spoken  to  the 
mason.  In  that  one  instant  she  saw  the  dark  face 
of  a  man  with  black  hair  and  fiery  eyes.  Before 
her  husband  turned  the  poor  creature  had  time  to 
make  a  sign  with  her  head  which  meant '  Hope.' 

"By  four  o'clock,  just  at  dawn,  for  it  was  in  the 
month  of  September,  the  work  was  done.  Monsieur 
de  Merret  remained  that  night  in  his  wife's  room. 
The  next  morning,  on  rising,  he^said,  carelessly: 

107 

ft 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

'Ah!  I  forgot,  I  must  go  to  the  mayor's  office  about 
that  passport.' 

"  He  put  on  his  hat,  made  three  steps  to  the  door, 
then  checked  himself,  turned  back,  and  took  the 
crucifix. 

"His  wife  trembled  with  joy;  'He  will  go  to  Duvi- 
vier's,'  she  thought. 

"The  moment  her  husband  had  left  the  house  she 
rang  for  Rosalie.  'The  pick-axe!'  she  cried,  'the 
pick-axe!  I  watched  how  Gorenflot  did  it;  we  shall 
have  time  to  make  a  hole  and  close  it  again.' 

"In  an  instant  Rosalie  had  brought  a  sort  of 
cleaver,  and  her  mistress,  with  a  fury  no  words  can 
describe,  began  to  demolish  the  wall.  She  had 
knocked  away  a  few  bricks,  and  was  drawing  back 
to  strike  a  still  more  vigorous  blow  with  all  her 
strength,  when  she  saw  her  husband  behind  her. 
She  fainted. 

"  'Put  madame  on  her  bed,'  said  her  husband, 
coldly. 

"  Foreseeing  what  would  happen,  he  had  laid  this 
trap  for  his  wife;  he  had  written  to  the  mayor,  and 
sent  for  Duvivier.  The  jeweller  arrived  just  as  the 
room  had  been  again  put  in  order. 

"'Duvivier,'  said  Monsieur  de  Merret,  'I  think 
you  bought  some  crucifixes  of  those  Spaniards  who 
were  here  last  year? ' 

"  '  No,  monsieur,  I  did  not/ 

"  'Very  good;  thank  you,'  he  said,  with  a  tigerish 
glance  at  his  wife.  '  Jean, '  he  added  to  the  f ootmaiv 

108 


La  Grande  Breteche 

'serve  my  meals  in  Madame  de  Merret's  bedroom; 
she  is  very  ill,  and  I  shall  not  leave  her  till  she 
recovers.' 

"For  twenty  days  that  man  remained  beside  his 
wife.  During  the  first  hours,  when  sounds  were 
heard  behind  the  walled  door,  and  Josephine  tried 
to  implore  mercy  for  the  dying  stranger,  he  an- 
swered, without  allowing  her  to  utter  a  word: — 

"  'You  swore  upon  the  cross  that  no  one  was 
there.'" 

As  the  tale  ended  the  women  rose  from  table,  and 
the  spell  under  which  Bianchon  had  held  them  was 
broken.  Nevertheless,  several  of  them  were  con- 
scious of  a  cold  chill  as  they  recalled  the  last  words. 


109 


VI 

THE  MASQUE  OF  THE  RED  DEATH 
EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 

THE  "Red  Death"  had  long  devastated  the 
country.  No  pestilence  had  ever  been  so 
fatal,  or  so  hideous.  Blood  was  its  Avatar 
and  its  seal — the  redness  and  the  horror  of  blood. 
There  were  sharp  pains,  and  sudden  dizziness,  and 
then  profuse  bleeding  at  the  pores,  with  dissolution. 
The  scarlet  stains  upon  the  body,  and  especially  upon 
the  face  of  the  victim,  were  the  pest  ban  which  shut 
him  out  from  the  aid  and  from  the  sympathy  of  his 
fellow-men.  And  the  whole  seizure,  progress,  and 
termination  of  the  disease  were  the  incidents  of  half- 
an-hour. 

But  the  Prince  Prospero  was  happy  and  dauntless 
and  sagacious.  When  his  dominions  were  half 
depopulated,  he  summoned  to  his  presence  a  thou- 
sand hale  and  light-hearted  friends  from  among  the 
knights  and  dames  of  his  court,  and  with  these 
retired  to  the  deep  seclusion  of  one  of  his  castellated 
abbeys.  This  was  an  extensive  and  magnificent 
structure,  the  creation  of  the  prince's  own  eccentric 
yet  august  taste.  A  strong  and  lofty  wall  girdled  it 
110 


The  Masque  of  the  Red  Death 

in.  This  wall  had  gates  of  iron.  The  courtiers, 
having  entered,  brought  furnaces  and  massy  ham- 
mers and  welded  the  bolts.  They  resolved  to  leave 
means  neither  of  ingress  or  egress  to  the  sudden  im- 
pulses of  despair  or  of  frenzy  from  within.  The 
abbey  was  amply  provisioned.  With  such  precau- 
tions the  courtiers  might  bid  defiance  to  contagion. 
The  external  world  could  take  care  of  itself.  In  the 
meantime  it  was  folly  to  grieve,  or  to  think.  The 
prince  had  provided  all  the  appliances  of  pleasure. 
There  were  buffoons,  there  were  improvisatori,  there 
were  ballet-dancers,  there  were  musicians,  there  was 
beauty,  there  was  wine.  All  these  and  security  were 
within.  Without  was  the  "Red  Death." 

It  was  toward  the  close  of  the  fifth  or  sixth  montk 
of  his  seclusion,  and  while  the  pestilence  raged  most 
furiously  abroad,  that  the  Prince  Prospero  enter- 
tained his  thousand  friends  at  a  masked  ball  of  the 
most  unusual  magnificence. 

It  was  a  voluptuous  scene,  that  masquerade.  But 
first  let  me  tell  of  the  rooms  in  which  it  was  held. 
There  were  seven — an  imperial  suite.  In  many 
palaces,  however,  such  suites  form  a  long  and  straight 
vista,  while  the  folding  doors  slide  back  nearly  to 
the  walls  on  either  hand,  so  that  the  view  of  the 
whole  extent  is  scarcely  impeded.  Here  the  case  was 
very  different,  as  might  have  been  expected  from  the 
duke's  love  of  the  bizarre.  The  apartments  were  so 
irregularly  disposed  that  the  vision  embraced  but 
little  more  than  one  at  a  time.  There  was  a  sharp 
111 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

turn  at  every  twenty  or  thirty  yards,  and  at  each 
turn  a  novel  effect.  To  the  right  and  left,  in  the 
middle  of  each  wall,  a  tall  and  narrow  Gothic  window 
looked  out  upon  a  closed  corridor  which  pursued  the 
windings  of  the  suite.  These  windows  were  of 
stained  glass,  whose  colour  varied  in  accordance 
with  the  prevailing  hue  of  the  decorations  of  the 
chamber  into  which  it  opened.  That  at  the  eastern 
extremity  was  hung,  for  example,  in  blue — and 
vividly  blue  were  its  windows.  The  second  chamber 
was  purple  in  its  ornaments  and  tapestries,  and  here 
the  panes  were  purple.  The  third  was  green  through- 
out, and  so  were  the  casements.  The  fourth  was 
furnished  and  lighted  with  orange — the  fifth  with 
white — the  sixth  with  violet.  The  seventh  apart- 
ment was  closely  shrouded  in  black  velvet  tapestries 
that  hung  all  over  the  ceiling  and  down  the  walls, 
falling  in  heavy  folds  upon  a  carpet  of  the  same 
material  and  hue.  But  in  this  chamber  only  the 
colour  of  the  windows  failed  to  correspond  with  the 
decorations.  The  panes  here  were  scarlet — a  deep 
blood  colour.  Now  in  no  one  of  the  seven  apart- 
ments was  there  any  lamp  or  candelabrum,  amid  the 
profusion  of  golden  ornaments  that  lay  scattered  to 
and  fro,  or  depended  from  the  roof.  There  was  no 
light  of  any  kind  emanating  from  lamp  or  candle 
within  the  suite  of  chambers.  But  in  the  corridors 
that  followed  the  suite,  there  stood,  opposite  to 
each  window,  a  heavy  tripod,  bearing  a  brazier  of 
fire,  that  projected  its  rays  through  the  tinted  glass, 
112 


The  Masque  of  the  Red  Death 

and  so  glaringly  illumined  the  room.  And  thus  were 
produced  a  multitude  of  gaudy  and  fantastic  appear- 
ances. But  in  the  western  or  black  chamber  the 
effect  of  the  firelight  that  streamed  upon  the  dark 
hangings  through  the  blood-tinted  panes,  was 
ghastly  hi  the  extreme,  and  produced  so  wild  a  look 
upon  the  countenances  of  those  who  entered,  that 
there  were  few  of  the  company  bold  enough  to  set 
foot  within  its  precincts  at  all. 

It  was  in  this  apartment,  also,  that  there  stood 
against  the  western  wall  a  gigantic  clock  of  ebony. 
Its  pendulum  swung  to  and  fro  with  a  dull,  heavy, 
monotonous  clang;  and  when  the  minute-hand  made 
the  circuit  of  the  face,  and  the  hour  was  to  be  strick- 
en, there  came  from  the  brazen  lungs  of  the  clock  a 
sound  which  was  clear  and  loud  and  deep  and  ex- 
ceedingly musical;  but  of  so  peculiar  a  note  and 
emphasis  that,  at  each  lapse  of  an  hour,  the  musi- 
cians of  the  orchestra  were  constrained  to  pause, 
momentarily,  in  their  performance,  to  hearken  to 
the  sound;  and  thus  the  waltzers  perforce  ceased 
their  evolutions;  and  there  was  a  brief  disconcert  of 
the  whole  gay  company;  and,  while  the  chimes  of 
the  clock  yet  rang,  it  was  observed  that  the  giddiest 
grew  pale,  and  the  more  aged  and  sedate  passed  their 
hands  over  their  brows  as  if  in  confused  reverie  or 
meditation.  But  when  the  echoes  had  fully  ceased, 
a  light  laughter  at  once  pervaded  the  assembly;  the 
musicians  looked  at  each  other  and  smiled  as  if  at 
their  own  nervousness  and  folly,  and  made  whisper- 
113 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

ing  vows,  each  to  the  other,  that  the  next  chiming  of 
the  clock  should  produce  in  them  no  similar  emotion; 
and  then,  after  the  lapse  of  sixty  minutes  (which 
embrace  three  thousand  and  six  hundred  seconds  of 
the  Time  that  flies),  there  came  yet  another  chiming 
of  the  clock,  and  then  were  the  same  disconcert  and 
tremulousness  and  meditation  as  before. 

But,  hi  spite  of  these  things,  it  was  a  gay  and 
magnificent  revel.  The  tastes  of  the  duke  were 
peculiar.  He  had  a  fine  eye  for  colours  and  effects. 
He  disregarded  the  decora  of  mere  fashion.  His  plans 
were  bold  and  fiery,  and  his  conceptions  glowed  with 
barbaric  lustre.  There  are  some  who  would  have 
thought  him  mad.  His  followers  felt  that  he  was  not. 
It  was  necessary  to  hear  and  see  and  touch  him  to  be 
sure  that  he  was  not. 

He  had  directed,  hi  great  part,  the  movable  em- 
bellishments of  the  seven  chambers,  upon  occasion 
of  this  great  fete;  and  it  was  his  own  guiding  taste 
which  had  given  character  to  the  masqueraders.  Be 
sure  they  were  grotesque.  There  were  much  glare 
and  glitter  and  piquancy  and  phantasm — much  of 
what  has  been  since  seen  in  "Hernani."  There  were 
arabesque  figures  with  unsuited  limbs  and  appoint- 
ments. There  were  delirious  fancies  as  the  madman 
fashions.  There  were  much  of  the  beautiful,  much 
of  the  wanton,  much  of  the  bizarre,  something  of  the 
terrible,  and  not  a  little  of  that  which  might  have 
excited  disgust.  To  and  fro  in  the  seven  chambers 
there  stalked,  in  fact,  a  multitude  of  dreams.  And 
114 


The  Masque  of  the  Red  Death 

these — the  dreams — writhed  in  and  about,  taking 
hue  from  the  rooms,  and  causing  the  wild  music  of 
the  orchestra  to  seem  as  the  echo  of  their  steps.  And, 
anon,  there  strikes  the  ebony  clock  which  stands  in 
the  hall  of  the  velvet.  And  then,  for  a  moment,  all 
is  still,  and  all  is  silent  save  the  voice  of  the  clock. 
The  dreams  are  stiff-frozen  as  they  stand.  But  the 
echoes  of  the  chime  die  away — they  have  endured 
but  an  instant — and  a  light,  half-subdued  laughter 
floats  after  them  as  they  depart.  And  now  again 
the  music  swells,  and  the  dreams  live,  and  writhe  to 
and  fro  more  merrily  than  ever,  taking  hue  from  the 
many  tinted  windows  through  which  stream  the  rays 
from  the  tripods.  But  to  the  chamber  which  lies 
most  westwardly  of  the  seven,  there  are  now  none  of 
the  maskers  who  venture;  for  the  night  is  waning 
away;  and  there  flows  a  ruddier  light  through  the 
blood-coloured  panes;  and  the  blackness  of  the  sable 
drapery  appals;  and  to  him  whose  foot  falls  upon  the 
sable  carpet,  there  comes  from  the  near  clock  of 
ebony  a  muffled  peal  more  solemnly  emphatic  than 
any  which  reaches  their  ears  who  indulge  in  the  more 
remote  gaieties  of  the  other  apartments. 

But  these  other  apartments  were  densely  crowded, 
and  in  them  beat  feverishly  the  heart  of  life.  And 
the  revel  went  whirlingly  on,  until  at  length  there 
commenced  the  sounding  of  midnight  upon  the 
clock.  And  then  the  music  ceased,  as  I  have  told; 
and  the  evolutions  of  the  waltzers  were  quieted;  and 
there  was  an  uneasy  cessation  of  all  things  as  before. 
115 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

But  now  there  were  twelve  strokes  to  be  sounded  by 
the  bell  of  the  clock;  and  thus  it  happened,  perhaps, 
that  more  of  thought  crept,  with  more  of  time,  into 
the  meditations  of  the  thoughtful  among  those  who 
revelled.  And  thus,  too,  it  happened,  perhaps,  that 
before  the  last  echoes  of  the  last  chime  had  utterly 
sunk  into  silence,  there  were  many  individuals  in  the 
crowd  who  had  found  leisure  to  become  aware  of  the 
presence  of  a  masked  figure  which  had  arrested  the 
attention  of  no  single  individual  before.  And  the 
rumour  of  this  new  presence  having  spread  itself 
whisperingly  around,  there  arose  at  length  from  the 
whole  company  a  buzz,  or  murmur,  expressive  of  dis- 
approbation and  surprise — then,  finally,  of  terror,  of 
horror,  and  of  disgust. 

In  an  assembly  of  phantasms,  such  as  I  have 
painted,  it  may  well  be  supposed  that  no  ordinary 
appearance  could  have  excited  such  sensation.  In 
truth  the  masquerade  license  of  the  night  was  nearly 
unlimited;  but  the  figure  in  question  had  out-Herod- 
ed  Herod,  and  gone  beyond  the  bounds  of  even  the 
prince's  indefinite  decorum.  There  are  chords  in  the 
hearts  of  the  most  reckless  which  cannot  be  touched 
without  emotion.  Even  with  the  utterly  lost,  to 
whom  life  and  death  are  equally  jests,  there  are 
matters  of  which  no  jests  can  be  made.  The  whole 
company,  indeed,  seemed  now  deeply  to  feel  that  in 
the  costume  and  bearing  of  the  stranger  neither  wit 
nor  propriety  existed.  The  figure  was  tall  and  gaunt, 
and  shrouded  from  head  to  foot  in  the  habiliments  of 
116 


The  Masque  of  the  Red  Death 

the  grave.  The  mask  which  concealed  the  visage 
was  made  so  nearly  to  resemble  the  countenance  of 
a  stiffened  corpse  that  the  closest  scrutiny  must  have 
had  difficulty  in  detecting  the  cheat.  And  yet  all 
this  might  have  been  endured,  if  not  approved,  by 
the  mad  revellers  around.  But  the  mummer  had 
gone  so  far  as  to  assume  the  type  of  the  Red  Death. 
His  vesture  was  dabbled  in  blood — and  his  broad 
brow,  with  all  the  features  of  the  face,  was  besprink- 
led with  the  scarlet  horror. 

When  the  eyes  of  Prince  Prospero  fell  upon  this 
spectral  image  (which  with  a  slow  and  solemn  move- 
ment, as  if  more  fully  to  sustain  its  rdle,  stalked  to 
and  from  among  the  waltzers),  he  was  seen  to  be  con- 
vulsed, in  the  first  moment,  with  a  strong  shudder 
either  of  terror  or  distaste;  but,  in  the  next,  his  brow 
reddened  with  rage. 

"Who  dares?"  he  demanded  hoarsely  of  the  cour- 
tiers who  stood  near  him — "  who  dares  insult  us  with 
this  blasphemous  mockery?  Seize  him  and  unmask 
him — that  we  may  know  whom  we  have  to  hang  at 
sunrise  from  the  battlements!" 

It  was  hi  the  eastern  or  blue  chamber  in  which 
stood  the  Prince  Prospero  as  he  uttered  these  words. 
They  rang  throughout  the  seven  rooms  loudly  and 
clearly — for  the  prince  was  a  bold  and  robust  man, 
and  the  music  had  become  hushed  at  the  waving  of 
his  hand. 

It  was  in  the  blue  room  where  stood  the  prince 
with  a  group  of  pale  courtiers  by  his  side.  At  first, 
117 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

as  he  spoke,  there  was  a  slight  rushing  movement  of 
this  group  in  the  direction  of  the  intruder,  who,  at 
the  moment,  was  also  near  at  hand,  and  now,  with 
deliberate  and  stately  step,  made  closer  approach  to 
the  speaker.  But  from  a  certain  nameless  awe  with 
which  the  mad  assumptions  of  the  mummer  had  in- 
spired the  whole  party,  there  were  found  none  who 
put  forth  hand  to  seize  him;  so  that,  unimpeded,  he 
passed  within  a  yard  of  the  prince's  person;  and 
while  the  vast  assembly,  as  if  with  one  impulse, 
shrank  from  the  centres  of  the  rooms  to  the  walls,  he 
made  his  way  uninterruptedly,  but  with  the  same 
solemn  and  measured  step  which  had  distinguished 
him  from  the  first,  through  the  blue  chamber  to  the 
purple — through  the  purple  to  the  green — through 
the  green  to  the  orange — through  this  again  to  the 
white — and  even  thence  to  the  violet,  ere  a  decided 
movement  had  been  made  to  arrest  him.  It  was 
then,  however,  that  the  Prince  Prospero,  maddened 
with  rage  and  the  shame  of  his  own  momentary 
cowardice,  rushed  hurriedly  through  the  six  cham- 
bers, while  none  followed  him  on  account  of  a  deadly 
terror  that  had  seized  upon  all.  He  bore  aloft  a 
drawn  dagger,  and  had  approached,  in  rapid  im- 
petuosity, to  within  three  or  four  feet  of  the  retreat- 
ing figure,  when  the  latter,  having  attained  the 
extremity  of  the  velvet  apartment,  turned  suddenly 
and  confronted  his  pursuer.  There  was  a  sharp  cry 
— and  the  dagger  dropped  gleaming  upon  the  sable 
carpet,  upon  which,  instantly  afterward,  fell  pros- 
118 


The  Masque  of  the  Red  Death 

trate  in  death  the  Prince  Prospero.  Then,  summon- 
ing the  wild  courage  of  despair,  a  throng  of  the 
revellers  at  once  threw  themselves  into  the  black 
apartment,  and,  seizing  the  mummer,  whose  tall 
figure  stood  erect  and  motionless  within  the  shadow 
of  the  ebony  clock,  gasped  in  unutterable  horror  at 
finding  the  grave  cerements  and  corpse-like  mask 
which  they  handled  with  so  violent  a  rudeness,  un- 
tenanted  by  any  tangible  form. 

And  now  was  acknowledged  the  presence  of  the 
Red  Death.  He  had  come  like  a  thief  in  the  night. 
And  one  by  one  dropped  the  revellers  in  the  blood- 
bedewed  halls  of  their  revel,  and  died  each  in  the 
despairing  posture  of  his  fall.  And  the  life  of  the 
ebony  clock  went  out  with  that  of  the  last  of  the  gay. 
And  the  flames  of  the  tripods  expired.  And  Dark- 
ness and  Decay  and  the  Red  Death  held  illimitable 
dominion  over  alL 


119 


vn 

DR.  MANETTE'S  MANUSCRIPT 
CHARLES  DICKENS 

"T  ALEXANDRE  MANETTE,  unfortunate 
physician,  native  of  Beauvais,  and  afterward 
9  resident  in  Paris,  write  this  melancholy  paper 
in  my  doleful  cell  in  the  Bastille,  during  the  last 
month  of  the  year,  1767.  I  write  it  at  stolen  in- 
tervals, under  every  difficulty.  I  design  to  secrete 
it  in  the  wall  of  the  chimney,  where  I  have  slowly 
and  laboriously  made  a  place  of  concealment  for  it. 
Some  pitying  hand  may  find  it  there,  when  I  and  my 
sorrows  are  dust. 

"These  words  are  formed  by  the  rusty  iron  point 
with  which  I  write  with  difficulty  in  scrapings  of 
soot  and  charcoal  from  the  chimney,  mixed  with 
blood,  in  the  last  month  of  the  tenth  year  of  my 
captivity.  Hope  has  quite  departed  from  my 
breast.  I  know  from  terrible  warnings  I  have  noted 
in  myself  that  my  reason  will  not  long  remain  un- 
impaired, but  I  solemnly  declare  that  I  am  at  this 
time  in  the  possession  of  my  right  mind — that  my 
memory  is  exact  and  circumstantial — and  that  I 

120 


Dr.  Manette's  Manuscript 

write  the  truth  as  I  shall  answer  for  these  my  last 
recorded  words,  whether  they  be  ever  read  by  men 
or  not,  at  the  Eternal  Judgment-seat. 

"One  cloudy  moonlight  night,  in  the  third  week  of 
December  (I  think  the  twenty-second  of  the  month) 
in  the  year  1757,  I  was  walking  on  a  retired  part  of 
the  quay  by  the  Seine  for  the  refreshment  of  the 
frosty  air,  at  an  hour's  distance  from  my  place  of 
residence  in  the  Street  of  the  School  of  Medicine, 
when  a  carriage  came  along  behind  me,  driven  very 
fast.  As  I  stood  aside  to  let  that  carriage  pass, 
apprehensive  that  it  might  otherwise  run  me  down,  a 
head  was  put  out  at  the  window,  and  a  voice  called 
to  the  driver  to  stop. 

"The  carriage  stopped  as  soon  as  the  driver  could 
rein  in  his  horses,  and  the  same  voice  called  to  me 
by  my  name.  I  answered.  The  carriage  was  then 
so  far  in  advance  of  me  that  two  gentlemen  had  time 
to  open  the  door  and  alight  before  I  came  up  with  it. 
I  observed  that  they  were  both  wrapped  hi  cloaks, 
and  appeared  to  conceal  themselves.  As  they  stood 
side  by  side  near  the  carriage  door,  I  also  observed 
that  they  both  looked  of  about  my  own  age,  or 
rather  younger,  and  that  they  were  greatly  alike,  in 
stature,  manner,  voice,  and  (as  far  as  I  could  see) 
£ace  too. 

"  'You  are  Doctor  Manette?'  said  one. 

"  'lam.' 

"  'Doctor  Manette,  formerly  of  Beauvais,'  said 
the  other;  'the  young  physician,  originally  an  expert 
121 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

surgeon,  who  within  the  last  year  or  two  has  made  a 
rising  reputation  in  Paris? ' 

"  'Gentlemen,'  I  returned,  'I  am  that  Doctor 
Manette  of  whom  you  speak  so  graciously.' 

"  'We  have  been  to  your  residence,'  said  the  first, 
'and  not  being  so  fortunate  as  to  find  you  there,  and 
being  informed  that  you  were  probably  walking  in 
this  direction,  we  followed,  in  the  hope  of  over- 
taking you.  Will  you  please  to  enter  the  carriage?' 

"The  manner  of  both  was  imperious,  and  they 
both  moved,  as  these  words  were  spoken,  so  as  to 
place  me  between  themselves  and  the  carriage  door. 
They  were  armed.  I  was  not. 

"  'Gentlemen,'  said  I,  'pardon  me;  but  I  usually 
inquire  who  does  me  the  honour  to  seek  my  assist- 
ance, and  what  is  the  nature  of  the  case  to  which  I 
am  summoned.' 

"The  reply  to  this  was  made  by  him  who  had 
spoken  second.  'Doctor,  your  clients  are  people 
of  condition.  As  to  the  nature  of  the  case,  our 
confidence  hi  your  skill  assures  us  that  you  will 
ascertain  it  for  yourself  better  than  we  can  describe 
it.  Enough.  Will  you  please  to  enter  the  carriage?' 

"I  could  do  nothing  but  comply,  and  I  entered 
it  in  silence.  They  both  entered  after  me — the  last 
springing  in,  after  putting  up  the  steps.  The  carri- 
age turned  about,  and  drove  on  at  its  former  speed. 

"I  repeat  this  conversation  exactly  as  it  occurred. 
I  have  no  doubt  that  it  is,  word  for  word,  the  same.  I 
describe  everything  exactly  as  it  took  place,  con- 
122 


Dr.  Manette's  Manuscript 

straining  my  mind  not  to  wander  from  the  task. 
Where  I  make  the  broken  marks  that  follow  here,  I 
leave  off  for  the  time,  and  put  my  paper  in  its  hiding- 
place.  *  *  *  * 

"The  carriage  left  the  streets  behind,  passed  the 
North  Barrier,  and  emerged  upon  the  country  road. 
At  two-thirds  of  a  league  from  the  Barrier — I  did 
not  estimate  the  distance  at  that  time,  but  after- 
ward when  I  traversed  it — it  struck  out  of  the  main 
avenue,  and  presently  stopped  at  a  solitary  house. 
We  all  three  alighted,  and  walked,  by  a  damp  soft 
footpath  in  a  garden  where  a  neglected  fountain  had 
overflowed,  to  the  door  of  the  house.  It  was  not 
opened  immediately,  in  answer  to  the  ringing  of  the 
bell,  and  one  of  my  two  conductors  struck  the  man 
who  opened  it,  with  his  heavy  riding  glove,  across 
the  face. 

"There  was  nothing  in  this  action  to  attract  my 
particular  attention,  for  I  had  seen  common  people 
struck  more  commonly  than  dogs.  But,  the  other 
of  the  two,  being  angry  likewise,  struck  the  man  in 
like  manner  with  his  arm;  the  look  and  bearing  of 
the  brothers  were  then  so  exactly  alike,  that  I  then 
first  perceived  them  to  be  twin  brothers. 

"  From  the  tune  of  our  alighting  at  the  outer  gate 
(which  we  found  locked,  and  which  one  of  the 
brothers  had  opened  to  admit  us,  and  had  relocked), 
I  had  heard  cries  proceeding  from  an  upper  chamber. 
I  was  conducted  to  this  chamber  straight,  the  cries 
growing  louder  as  we  ascended  the  stairs,  and  I 
123 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

found  a  patient  in  a  high  fever  of  the  brain,  lying 
on  a  bed. 

"The  patient  was  a  woman  of  great  beauty,  and 
young;  assuredly  not  much  past  twenty.  Her  hair 
was  torn  and  ragged,  and  her  arms  were  bound  to  her 
sides  with  sashes  and  handkerchiefs.  I  noticed 
that  these  bonds  were  all  portions  of  a  gentleman's 
dress.  On  one  of  them,  which  was  a  fringed  scarf 
for  a  dress  of  ceremony,  I  saw  the  armorial  bearings 
of  a  Noble,  and  the  letter  E. 

"I  saw  this,  within  the  first  minute  of  my  con- 
templation of  the  patient;  for,  in  her  restless  striv- 
ings she  had  turned  over  on  her  face  on  the  edge  of 
the  bed,  had  drawn  the  end  of  the  scarf  into  her 
mouth,  and  was  in  danger  of  suffocation.  My  first 
act  was  to  put  out  my  hand  to  relieve  her  breathing; 
and  in  moving  the  scarf  aside,  the  embroidery  in  the 
corner  caught  my  sight. 

"I  turned  her  gently  over,  placed  my  hands  upon 
her  breast  to  calm  her  and  keep  her  down,  and 
looked  into  her  face.  Her  eyes  were  dilated  and 
wild,  and  she  constantly  uttered  piercing  shrieks, 
and  repeated  the  words,  'My  husband,  my  father, 
and  my  brother!'  and  then  counted  up  to  twelve, 
and  said,  'Hush!'  For  an  instant,  and  no  more, 
she  would  pause  to  listen,  and  then  the  piercing 
shrieks  would  begin  again,  and  she  would  repeat  the 
cry,  'My  husband,  my  father,  and  my  brother!'  and 
would  count  up  to  twelve,  and  say,  'Hush!'  There 
was  no  variation  in  the  order,  or  the  manner.  There 
124 


Dr.  Manette's  Manuscript 

was  no  cessation,  but  the  regular  moment's  pause 
in  the  utterance  of  these  sounds. 

"  'How  long,'  I  asked,  'has  this  lasted?' 

"To  distinguish  the  brothers,  I  will  call  them  the 
elder  and  the  younger;  by  the  elder,  I  mean  him 
who  exercised  the  most  authority.  It  was  the  elder 
who  replied,  '  Since  about  this  hour  last  night.' 

" '  She  has  a  husband,  a  father,  and  a  brother? ' 

"'A  brother.' 

"  'I  do  not  address  her  brother?' 

"He  answered  with  great  contempt,  'No.' 

" '  She  has  some  recent  association  with  the  number 
twelve? ' 

"The  younger  brother  impatiently  rejoined, 
'With  twelve  o'clock.' 

"  'See,  gentlemen,'  said  I,  still  keeping  my  hands 
upon  her  breast,  'how  useless  I  am,  as  you  have 
brought  me!  If  I  had  known  what  I  was  coming  to 
see,  I  could  have  come  provided.  As  it  is,  time 
must  be  lost.  There  are  no  medicines  to  be  obtained 
in  this  lonely  place.' 

"The  elder  brother  looked  to  the  younger,  who 
said  haughtily,  'There  is  a  case  of  medicines  here;' 
and  brought  it  from  a  closet,  and  put  it  on  the 
table.  *  *  *  * 

"I  opened  some  of  the  bottles,  smelt  them,  and 
put  the  stoppers  to  my  lips.  If  I  had  wanted  to  use 
anything  save  narcotic  medicines  that  were  poisons 
in  themselves,  I  would  not  have  administered  any 
of  those. 

125 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

•"Do  you  doubt  them?'  asked  the  younger 
brother. 

"  'You  see,  monsieur,  I  am  going  to  use  them,'  I 
replied,  and  said  no  more. 

"  I  made  the  patient  swallow,  with  great  difficulty, 
and  after  many  efforts,  the  dose  that  I  desired  to 
give.  As  I  intended  tc  repeat  it  after  a  while,  and 
as  it  was  necessary  to  watch  its  influence,  I  then  sat 
down  by  the  side  of  the  bed.  There  was  a  timid  and 
suppressed  woman  in  attendance  (wife  of  the  man 
downstairs),  who  had  retreated  into  a  comer. 
The  house  was  damp  and  decayed,  indifferently 
furnished — evidently,  recently  occupied  and  tempo- 
rarily used.  Some  thick  old  hangings  had  been 
nailed  up  before  the  windows,  to  deaden  the  sound 
of  the  shrieks.  They  continued  to  be  uttered  in  their 
regular  succession,  with  the  cry,  'My  husband,  my 
father,  and  my  brother!'  the  counting  up  to  twelve, 
and  'Hush!'  The  frenzy  was  so  violent,  that  I  had 
not  unfastened  the  bandages  restraining  the  arms; 
but,  I  had  looked  to  them,  to  see  that  they  were  not 
painful.  The  only  spark  of  encouragement  in  the 
case,  was,  that  my  hand  upon  the  sufferer's  breast 
had  this  much  soothing  influence,  that  for  minutes 
at  a  time  it  tranquillised  the  figure.  It  had  no  effect 
upon  the  cries;  no  pendulum  could  be  more  regular. 

"For  the  reason  that  my  hand  had  this  effect 
(I  assume),  I  had  sat  by  the  side  of  the  bed  for  hah* 
an  hour,  with  the  two  brothers  looking  on,  before 
the  elder  said: 

126 


Dr.  Manette's  Manuscript 

"  'There  is  another  patient.' 

"I  was  startled,  and  asked,  'Is  it  a  pressing  case?' 

'"You  had  better  see,'  he  carelessly  answered; 
and  took  up  a  light.  *  *  *  * 

"The  other  patient  lay  hi  a  back  room  across  a 
second  staircase,  which  was  a  species  of  loft  over  a 
stable.  There  was  a  low  plastered  ceiling  to  a  part 
of  it;  the  rest  was  open,  to  the  ridge  of  the  tiled  roof, 
and  there  were  beams  across.  Hay  and  straw  were 
stored  in  that  portion  of  the  place,  fagots  for  firing, 
and  a  heap  of  apples  in  sand.  I  had  to  pass  through 
that  part  to  get  at  the  other.  My  memory  is 
circumstantial  and  unshaken.  I  try  it  with  these 
details,  and  I  see  them  all,  in  this  my  cell  in  the 
Bastille,  near  the  close  of  the  tenth  year  of  my 
captivity,  as  I  saw  them  all  that  night. 

"  On  some  hay  on  the  ground,  with  a  cushion  thrown 
under  his  head,  lay  a  handsome  peasant  boy — a  boy 
of  not  more  than  seventeen  at  the  most.  He  lay  on 
his  back,  with  his  teeth  set,  his  right  hand  clenched 
on  his  breast,  and  his  glaring  eyes  looking  straight 
upward.  I  could  not  see  where  his  wound  was,  as  I 
kneeled  on  one  knee  over  him;  but,  I  could  see  that 
he  was  dying  of  a  wound  from  a  sharp  point. 

'"I  am  a  doctor,  my  poor  fellow,'  said  I.  'Let  me 
examine  it.' 

"  'I  do  not  want  it  examined,'  he  answered;  'let 
it  be.' 

"It  was  under  his  hand,  and  I  soothed  him  to  let 
me  move  his  hand  away.  The  wound  was  a  sword- 
127 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

thrust,  received  from  twenty  to  twenty-four  hours 
before,  but  no  skill  could  have  saved  him  if  it  had 
been  looked  to  without  delay.  He  was  then  dying 
fast.  As  I  turned  my  eyes  to  the  elder  brother,  I  saw 
him  looking  down  at  this  handsome  boy  whose  life  was 
ebbing  out,  as  if  he  were  a  wounded  bird,  or  hare,  or 
rabbit;  not  at  all  as  if  he  were  a  fellow-creature. 

"  'How  has  this  been  done,  monsieur?'  said  I. 

"  'A  crazed  young  common  dog!  A  serf !  Forced 
my  brother  to  draw  upon  him,  and  has  fallen  by  my 
brother's  sword — like  a  gentleman.' 

"There  was  no  touch  of  pity,  sorrow,  or  kindred 
humanity  in  this  answer.  The  speaker  seemed  to 
acknowledge  that  it  was  inconvenient  to  have  that 
different  order  of  creature  dying  there,  and  that  it 
would  have  been  better  if  he  had  died  in  the  usual 
obscure  routine  of  his  vermin  kind.  He  was  quite 
incapable  of  any  compassionate  feeling  about  the 
boy,  or  about  his  fate. 

"The  boy's  eyes  had  slowly  moved  to  him  as  he 
had  spoken,  and  they  now  slowly  moved  to  me. 

"  'Doctor,  they  are  very  proud,  these  Nobles; 
but  we  common  dogs  are  proud  too,  sometimes. 
They  plunder  us,  outrage  us,  beat  us,  kill  us;  but 
we  have  a  little  pride  left,  sometimes.  She — have 
you  seen  her,  Doctor?' 

"The  shrieks  and  the  cries  were  audible  there, 
though  subdued  by  the  distance.  He  referred  to 
them,  as  if  she  were  lying  in  our  presence. 

"I  said,  'I  have  seen  her.' 
128 


Dr.  Marietta's  Manuscript 

"  '  She  is  my  sister,  Doctor.  They  have  had  their 
shameful  rights,  these  Nobles,  in  the  modesty  and 
virtue  of  our  sisters,  many  years,  but  we  have  had 
good  girls  among  us.  I  know  it,  and  have  heard  my 
father  say  so.  She  was  a  good  girl.  She  was  be- 
trothed to  a  good  young  man,  too:  a  tenant  of  his. 
We  were  all  tenants  of  his — that  man's  who  stands 
there.  The  other  is  his  brother,  the  worst  of  a  bad 
race.' 

"It  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  the  boy 
gathered  bodily  force  to  speak;  but,  his  spirit  spoke 
with  a  dreadful  emphasis. 

"  'We  were  so  robbed  by  that  man  who  stands 
there,  as  all  we  common  dogs  are  by  those  superior 
Beings — taxed  by  him  without  mercy,  obliged  to 
work  for  him  without  pay,  obliged  to  grind  our  corn 
at  his  mill,  obliged  to  feed  scores  of  his  tame  birds 
on  our  wretched  crops,  and  forbidden  for  our  lives 
to  keep  a  single  tame  bird  of  our  own,  pillaged  and 
plundered  to  that  degree  that  when  we  chanced  to 
have  a  bit  of  meat^  we  ate  it  in  fear,  with  the  door 
barred  and  the  shutters  closed,  that  his  people  should 
not  see  it  and  take  it  from  us — I  say,  we  were  so 
robbed,  and  hunted,  and  were  made  so  poor,  that 
our  father  told  us  it  was  a  dreadful  thing  to  bring  a 
child  into  the  world,  and  that  what  we  should  most 
pray  for  was,  that  our  women  might  be  barren  and 
our  miserable  race  die  out!' 

"I  had  never  before  seen  the  sense  of  being  op- 
pressed bursting  forth  like  a  fire.  I  had  supposed 
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Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

that  it  must  be  latent  in  the  people  somewhere;  but, 
I  had  never  seen  it  break  out,  until  I  saw  it  in  the 
dying  boy. 

"  'Nevertheless,  Doctor,  my  sister  married.  He 
was  ailing  at  that  time,  poor  fellow,  and  she  married 
her  lover,  that  she  might  tend  and  comfort  him  in 
our  cottage — our  dog-hut,  as  that  man  would  call  it. 
She  had  not  been  married  many  weeks,  when  that 
man's  brother  saw  her  and  admired  her,  and  asked 
that  man  to  lend  her  to  him — for  what  are  husbands 
among  us!  He  was  willing  enough,  but  my  sister 
was  good  and  virtuous,  and  hated  his  brother  with 
a  hatred  as  strong  as  mine.  What  did  the  two  then, 
to  persuade  her  husband  to  use  his  influence  with  her, 
to  make  her  willing?' 

"The  boy's  eyes,  which  had  been  fixed  on  mine, 
slowly  turned  to  the  looker-on,  and  I  saw  in  the  two 
faces  that  all  he  said  was  true.  The  two  opposing 
kinds  of  pride  confronting  one  another,  I  can  see, 
even  in  this  Bastille;  the  gentleman's,  all  negligent 
indifference;  the  peasant's,  all  trodden-down  senti- 
ment, and  passionate  revenge. 

"  'You  know,  Doctor,  that  it  is  among  the  Rights 
of  these  Nobles  to  harness  us  common  dogs  to  carts, 
and  drive  us.  They  so  harnessed  him  and  drove 
him.  You  know  that  it  is  among  their  Rights  to 
keep  us  in  their  grounds  all  night,  quieting  the  frogs, 
in  order  that  their  noble  sleep  may  not  be  disturbed. 
They  kept  him  out  in  the  unwholesome  mists  at 
night  and  ordered  him  back  into  his  harness  in  the 

130 


Dr.  Manette's  Manuscript 

day.  But  he  was  not  persuaded.  No!  Taken  out 
of  harness  one  day  at  noon,  to  feed — if  he  could  find 
food — he  sobbed  twelve  times,  once  for  every  stroke 
of  the  bell,  and  died  on  her  bosom.' 

"Nothing  human  could  have  held  life  in  the  boy 
but  his  determination  to  tell  all  his  wrong.  He  forced 
back  the  gathering  shadows  of  death,  as  he  forced 
his  clenched  right  hand  to  remain  clenched,  and  to 
cover  his  wound. 

"  'Then,  with  that  man's  permission  and  even  with 
his  aid,  his  brother  took  her  away;  in  spite  of  what 
I  know  she  must  have  told  his  brother — and  what 
that  is,  will  not  be  long  unknown  to  you,  Doctor,  if 
it  is  now — his  brother  took  her  away — for  his 
pleasure  and  diversion,  for  a  little  while.  I  saw  her 
pass  me  on  the  road.  When  I  took  the  tidings  home, 
our  father's  heart  burst;  he  never  spoke  one  of  the 
words  that  filled  it.  I  took  my  young  sister  (for  I 
have  another)  to  a  place  beyond  the  reach  of  this 
man,  and  where,  at  least,  she  will  never  be  his  vassal. 
Then,  I  tracked  the  brother  here,  and  last  night 
climbed  in — a  common  dog,  but  sword  in  hand. — 
Where  is  the  loft  window?  It  was  somewhere  here?' 

"The  room  was  darkening  to  his  sight;  the  world 
was  narrowing  around  him.  I  glanced  about  me, 
and  saw  that  the  hay  and  straw  were  trampled  over 
the  floor,  as  if  there  had  been  a  struggle. 

"  'She  heard  me,  and  ran  in.  I  told  her  not  to 
come  near  us  till  he  was  dead.  He  came  in  and  first 
tossed  me  some  pieces  of  money;  then  struck  at  me 
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with  a  whip.  But  I,  though  a  common  dog,  so 
struck  at  him  as  to  make  him  draw.  Let  him  break 
into  as  many  pieces  as  he  will,  the  sword  that  he 
stained  with  my  common  blood;  he  drew  to  defend 
himself — thrust  at  me  with  all  his  skill  for  his 
life.' 

"My  glance  had  fallen,  but  a  few  moments  before, 
on  the  fragments  of  a  broken  sword,  lying  among 
the  hay.  That  weapon  was  a  gentleman's.  In 
another  place,  lay  an  old  sword  that  seemed  to  have 
been  a  soldier's. 

"  'Now,  lift  me  up,  Doctor;  lift  me  up.  Where  is 
he?' 

"  'He  is  not  here,'  I  said,  supporting  the  boy,  and 
thinking  that  he  referred  to  the  brother. 

'"He!  Proud  as  these  nobles  are,  he  is  afraid  to 
see  me.  Where  is  the  man  who  was  here?  Turn  my 
face  to  him.' 

"I  did  so,  raising  the  boy's  head  against  my  knee. 
But,  invested  for  the  moment  with  extraordinary 
power,  he  raised  himself  completely:  obliging  me 
to  rise  too,  or  I  could  not  have  still  supported  him. 

"  'Marquis,'  said  the  boy,  turned  to  him  with  his 
eyes  opened  wide,  and  his  right  hand  raised,  'in  the 
days  when  all  these  things  are  to  be  answered  for,  I 
summon  you  and  yours,  to  the  last  of  your  bad  race, 
to  answer  for  them.  I  mark  this  cross  of  blood  upon 
you,  as  a  sign  that  I  do  it.  In  the  days  when  all 
these  things  are  to  be  answered  for,  I  summon  your 
brother,  the  worst  of  the  bad  race,  to  answer  for 
132 


Dr.  Manette's  Manuscript 

them  separately.  I  mark  this  cross  of  blood  upon 
him,  as  a  sign  that  I  do  it.' 

"Twice,  he  put  his  hand  to  the  wound  in  his 
breast,  and  with  his  forefinger  drew  a  cross  in  the  air. 
He  stood  for  an  instant  with  the  finger  yet  raised, 
and  as  it  dropped,  he  dropped  with  it,  and  I  laid 
him  down  dead.  *  *  *  * 

"When  I  returned  to  the  bedside  of  the  young 
woman,  I  found  her  raving  in  precisely  the  same 
order  of  continuity.  I  knew  that  this  might  last  for 
many  hours,  and  that  it  would  probably  end  in  the 
silence  of  the  grave. 

"I  repeated  the  medicines  I  had  given  her,  and  I 
sat.  at  the  side  of  the  bed  until  the  night  was  far 
advanced.  She  never  abated  the  piercing  quality 
of  her  shrieks,  never  stumbled  in  the  distinctness 
or  order  of  her  words.  They  were  always  'My  hus- 
band, my  father,  and  my  brother!  One,  two,  three, 
four,  five,  six,  seven,  eight,  nine,  ten,  eleven,  twelve. 
Hush!' 

"This  lasted  twenty-six  hours  from  the  time  when 
I  first  saw  her.  I  had  come  and  gone  twice,  and  was 
again  sitting  by  her,  when  she  began  to  falter.  I 
did  what  little  could  be  done  to  assist  that  oppor- 
tunity, and  by-and-bye  she  sank  into  a  lethargy,  and 
lay  like  the  dead. 

"It  was  as  if  the  wind  and  rain  had  lulled  at  last, 
after  a  long  and  fearful  storm.  I  released  her  arms, 
and  called  the  woman  to  assist  me  to  compose  her 
figure  and  the  dress  she  had  torn.  It  was  then  that 

133 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

I  knew  her  condition  to  be  that  of  one  in  whom  the 
first  expectations  of  being  a  mother  have  arisen;  and 
it  was  then  that  I  lost  the  little  hope  I  had  had  of  her. 

"  'Is  she  dead?'  asked  the  Marquis,  whom  I  will 
still  describe  as  the  elder  brother,  coming  booted  into 
the  room  from  his  horse. 

"  'Not  dead,'  said  I;  <but  like  to  die.' 

"  'What  strength  there  is  in  these  common  bodies!' 
he  said,  looking  down  at  her  with  some  curiosity. 

"  'There  is  prodigious  strength,'  I  answered  him, 
'in  sorrow  and  despair.' 

"He  first  laughed  at  my  words,  and  then  frowned 
at  them.  He  moved  a  chair  with  his  foot  near  to 
mine,  ordered  the  woman  away,  and  said  in  a  sub- 
dued voice, 

"  'Doctor,  finding  my  brother  in  this  difficulty 
with  these  hinds,  I  recommend  that  your  aid  should 
be  invited.  Your  reputation  is  high,  and,  as  a  young 
man  with  your  fortune  to  make,  you  are  probably 
mindful  of  your  interest.  The  things  that  you  see 
here  are  things  to  be  seen,  and  not  spoken  of.' 

"I  listened  to  the  patient's  breathing,  and  avoided 
answering. 

"  'Do  you  honour  me  with  your  attention,  Doc- 
tor?' 

"  'Monsieur,'  said  I,  'in  my  profession,  the  com- 
munications of  patients  are  always  received  in  con- 
fidence.' I  was  guarded  in  my  answer,  for  I  was 
troubled  in  my  mind  with  what  I  had  heard  and 
seen. 

134 


Dr.  Manette's  Manuscript 

"Her  breathing  was  so  difficult  to  trace,  that  I 
carefully  tried  the  pulse  and  the  heart.  There  was 
life,  and  no  more.  Looking  round  as  I  resumed 
my  seat,  I  found  both  the  brothers  intent  upon 
me.  *  *  *  * 

"I  write  with  so  much  difficulty,  the  cold  is  so 
severe,  I  am  so  fearful  of  being  detected  and  con- 
signed to  an  underground  cell  and  total  darkness, 
that  I  must  abridge  this  narrative.  There  is  no 
confusion  or  failure  in  my  memory;  I  can  recall,  and 
could  detail,  every  word  that  was  ever  spoken  be- 
tween me  and  those  brothers. 

"She  lingered  for  a  week.  Toward  the  last,  I 
could  understand  some  few  syllables  that  she  said 
to  me,  by  placing  my  ear  close  to  her  lips.  She 
asked  me  where  she  was,  and  I  told  her;  who  I  was, 
and  I  told  her.  It  was  hi  vain  that  I  asked  her  for 
her  family  name.  She  faintly  shook  her  head 
upon  the  pillow  and  kept  her  secret,  as  the  boy 
had  done. 

"  I  had  no  opportunity  of  asking  her  any  question, 
until  I  had  told  the  brothers  she  was  sinking  fast, 
and  could  not  live  another  day.  Until  then,  though 
no  one  was  ever  presented  to  her  consciousness  save 
the  woman  and  myself,  one  or  the  other  of  them  had 
always  jealously  sat  behind  the  curtain  at  the  head 
of  the  bed  when  I  was  there.  But  when  it  came  to 
that,  they  seemed  careless  what  communication  I 
might  hold  with  her;  as  if— the  thought  passed 
through  my  mind — I  were  dying  too. 
135 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

"I  always  observed  that  their  pride  bitterly  re- 
sented the  younger  brother's  (as  I  call  him)  having 
crossed  swords  with  a  peasant,  and  that  peasant  a 
boy.  The  only  consideration  that  appeared  to  affect 
the  mind  of  either  of  them  was  the  consideration  that 
this  was  highly  degrading  to  the  family,  and  was 
ridiculous.  As  often  as  I  caught  the  younger  broth- 
er's eyes,  their  expression  reminded  me  that  he  dis- 
liked me  deeply,  for  knowing  what  I  knew  from  the 
boy.  He  was  smoother  and  more  polite  to  me  than 
the  elder;  but  I  saw  this.  I  also  saw  that  I  was  an 
incumbrance  in  the  mind  of  the  elder,  too. 

"My  patient  died,  two  hours  before  midnight — 
at  a  time,  by  my  watch,  answering  almost  to  the 
minute  when  I  had  first  seen  her.  I  was  alone  with 
her,  when  her  forlorn  young  head  drooped  gently 
on  one  side,  and  all  her  earthly  wrongs  and  sorrows 
ended. 

"The  brothers  were  waiting  in  a  room  downstairs, 
impatient  to  ride  away.  I  had  heard  them,  alone  at 
the  bedside,  striking  their  boots  with  their  riding- 
whips,  and  loitering  up  and  down. 

"  'At  last  she  is  dead?'  said  the  elder,  when  I  went 
in. 

"  'She  is  dead,'  said  I. 

"  'I  congratulate  you,  my  brother,'  were  his  words 
as  he  turned  round. 

"He  had  before  offered  me  money,  which  I  had 
postponed  taking.  He  now  gave  me  a  rouleau  of 
gold.  I  took  it  from  his  hand,  but  laid  it  on  the  table. 
136 


.     Dr.  Manette's  Manuscript 

I  had  considered  the  question,  and  had  resolved  to 
accept  nothing. 

"  'Pray  excuse  me,'  said  I.  'Under  the  circum- 
stances, no.' 

"They  exchanged  looks,  but  bent  their  heads  to 
me  as  I  bent  mine  to  them,  and  we  parted  without 
another  word  on  either  side.  *  *  *  * 

"I  am  weary,  weary,  weary — worn  down  by 
misery.  I  cannot  read  what  I  have  written  with 
this  gaunt  hand. 

"Early  in  the  morning,  the  rouleau  of  gold  was 
left  at  my  door  in  a  little  box,  with  my  name  on  the 
outside.  From  the  first,  I  had  anxiously  considered 
what  I  ought  to  do.  I  decided,  that  day,  to  write 
privately  to  the  Minister,  stating  the  nature  of  the 
two  cases  to  which  I  had  been  summoned,  and  the 
place  to  which  I  had  gone:  in  effect,  stating  all  the 
circumstances.  I  knew  what  Court  influence  was, 
and  what  the  immunities  of  the  Nobles  were,  and 
I  expected  that  the  matter  would  never  be  heard  of; 
but,  I  wished  to  relieve  my  own  mind.  I  had  kept 
the  matter  a  profound  secret,  even  from  my  wife; 
and  this,  too,  I  resolved  to  state  in  my  letter.  I  had 
no  apprehension  whatever  of  my  real  danger;  but  I 
was  conscious  that  there  might  be  danger  for  others, 
if  others  were  compromised  by  possessing  the  knowl- 
edge that  I  possessed. 

"I  was  much  engaged  that  day,  and  could  not 
complete  my  letter  that  night.  I  rose  long  before 
my  usual  time  next  morning  to  finish  it.  It  was  the 
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Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

last  day  of  the  year.  The  letter  was  lying  before 
me  just  completed,  when  I  was  told  that  a  lady 
waited,  who  wished  to  see  me. 

"  I  am  growing  more  and  more  unequal  to  the  task 
I  have  set  myself.  It  is  so  cold,  so  dark,  my  senses 
are  so  benumbed,  and  the  gloom  upon  me  is  so  dread- 
ful. 

"The  lady  was  young,  engaging,  and  handsome, 
but  not  marked  for  long  life.  She  was  in  great  agita- 
tion. She  presented  herself  to  me  as  the  wife  of  the 
Marquis  St.  Evremonde.  I  connected  the  tide  by 
which  the  boy  had  addressed  the  elder  brother,  with 
the  initial  letter  embroidered  on  the  scarf,  and  had 
no  difficulty  in  arriving  at  the  conclusion  that  I  had 
seen  that  nobleman  very  lately. 

"My  memory  is  still  accurate,  but  I  cannot  write 
the  words  of  our  conversation.  I  suspect  that  I  am 
watched  more  closely  than  I  was,  and  I  know  not 
at  what  times  I  may  be  watched.  She  had  in  part 
suspected,  and  in  part  discovered,  the  main  facts  of 
the  cruel  story,  of  her  husband's  share  in  it,  and  my 
being  resorted  to.  She  did  not  know  that  the  girl 
was  dead.  Her  hope  had  been,  she  said  in  great  dis- 
tress, to  show  her,  in  secret,  a  woman's  sympathy. 
Her  hope  had  been  to  avert  the  wrath  of  Heaven 
from  a  House  that  had  long  been  hateful  to  the 
suffering  many. 

"She  had  reasons  for  believing  that  there  was  a 
young  sister  living,  and  her  greatest  desire  was,  to 
help  that  sister.  I  could  tell  her  nothing  but  that 
138 


Dr.  Manette's  Manuscript 

there  was  such  a  sister;  beyond  that,  I  knew  noth- 
ing. Her  inducement  to  come  to  me,  relying  on  my 
confidence,  had  been  the  hope  that  I  could  tell  her 
the  name  and  place  of  abode.  Whereas,  to  this 
wretched  hour  I  am  ignorant  of  both.  *  *  *  * 

"These  scraps  of  paper  fail  me.  One  was  taken 
from  me,  with  a  warning,  yesterday.  I  must  finish 
my  record  to-day. 

"She  was  a  good,  compassionate  lady,  and  not 
happy  in  her  marriage.  How  could  she  be!  The 
brother  distrusted  and  disliked  her,  and  his  influence 
was  all  opposed  to  her;  she  stood  in  dread  of  him, 
and  in  dread  of  her  husband  too.  When  I  handed 
her  down  to  the  door,  there  was  a  child,  a  pretty  boy 
from  two  to  three  years  old,  in  her  carriage. 

"  'For  his  sake,  Doctor,'  she  said,  pointing  to  him 
in  tears,  'I  would  do  all  I  can  to  make  what  poor 
amends  I  can.  He  will  never  prosper  in  his  inherit- 
ance otherwise.  I  have  a  presentiment  that  if  no 
other  innocent  atonement  is  made  for  this,  it  will  one 
day  be  required  of  him.  What  I  have  left  to  call  my 
own — it  is  little  beyond  the  worth  of  a  few  jewels— 
I  will  make  it  the  first  charge  of  his  life  to  bestow, 
with  the  compassion  and  lamentation  of  his  dead 
mother,  on  this  injured  family,  if  the  sister  can  be 
discovered.' 

"She  kissed  the  boy,  and  said,  caressing  him,  'It 

is  for  thine  own  dear  sake.    Thou  wilt  be  faithful, 

little  Charles?'    The  child  answered  her  bravely, 

'Yes!'    I  kissed  her  hand,  and  she  took  him  hi  her 

139 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

arms,  and  went  away  caressing  him.  I  never  saw 
her  more. 

"As  she  had  mentioned  her  husband's  name  in 
the  faith  that  I  knew  it,  I  added  no  mention  of  it  to 
my  letter.  I  sealed  my  letter,  and,  not  trusting  it 
out  of  my  own  hands,  delivered  it  myself  that  day. 

"That  night,  the  last  night  of  the  year,  toward 
nine  o'clock,  a  man  in  a  black  dress  rang  at  my  gate, 
demanded  to  see  me,  and  softly  followed  my  servant, 
Ernest  Defarge,  a  youth,  up-stairs.  When  my  ser- 
vant came  into  the  room  where  I  sat  with  my  wife — 
O  my  wife,  beloved  of  my  heart!  My  fair  young 
English  wife! — we  saw  the  man,  who  was  supposed  to 
be  at  the  gate,  standing  silent  behind  him. 

"An  urgent  case  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore,  he  said. 
It  would  not  detain  me,  he  had  a  coach  in  waiting. 

"  It  brought  me  here,  it  brought  me  to  my  grave. 
When  I  was  clear  of  the  house,  a  black  muffler  was 
drawn  tightly  over  my  mouth  from  behind,  and  my 
arms  were  pinioned.  The  two  brothers  crossed  the 
road  from  a  dark  corner,  and  identified  me  with  a 
single  gesture.  The  Marquis  took  from  his  pocket 
the  letter  f  had  written,  showed  it  me,  burnt  it  in 
the  light  of  a  lantern  that  was  held,  and  extinguished 
the  ashes  with  his  foot.  Not  a  word  was  spoken.  I 
was  brought  here,  I  was  brought  to  my  living  grave. 

"  If  it  had  pleased  GOD  to  put  it  in  the  hard  heart 

of  either  of  the  brothers,  in  all  these  frightful  years, 

to  grant  me  any  tidings  of  my  dearest  wife — so 

much  as  to  let  me  know  by  a  word  whether  alive  or 

140 


Dr.  Manette's  Manuscript 

dead — I  might  have  thought  that  He  had  not  quite 
abandoned  them.  But,  now  I  believe  that  the  mark 
of  the  red  cross  is  fatal  to  them,  and  that  they  have 
no  part  in  His  mercies.  And  them  and  their  de- 
scendants, to  the  last  of  their  race,  I,  Alexandre 
Manette,  unhappy  prisoner,  do  this  last  night  of  the 
year  1767,  in  my  unbearable  agony,  denounce  to 
the  times  when  all  these  things  shall  be  answered  for. 
I  denounce  them  to  Heaven  and  to  earth." 


vin 

SILENCE* 

LEONIDAS  ANDREIYEFF 


ONE  moonlight  night  in  May,  while  the  night- 
ingales sang,  Father  Ignatius'  wife  entered 
his  chamber.  Her  countenance  expressed 
suffering,  and  the  little  lamp  she  held  in  her  hand 
trembled.  Approaching  her  husband,  she  touched 
his  shoulder,  and  managed  to  say  between  her  sobs: 

"Father,  let  us  go  to  Verochka." 

Without  turning  his  head,  Father  Ignatius  glanced 
severely  at  his  wife  over  the  rims  of  his  spectacles, 
and  looked  long  and  intently,  till  she  waved  her  un- 
occupied hand  and  dropped  on  a  low  divan. 

"That  one  toward  the  other  be  so  pitiless!"  she 
pronounced  slowly,  with  emphasis  on  the  final  syl- 
lables, and  her  good  plump  face  was  distorted  with  a 
grimace  of  pain  and  exasperation,  as  if  in  this  manner 
she  wished  to  express  what  stern  people  they  were 
— her  husband  and  daughter. 

Father  Ignatius  smiled  and  arose.  Closing  his 
book,  he  removed  his  spectacles,  placed  them  in  the 

*  Reprinted  by  permission  of  Nicholas  L.  Brown,  Publisher. 
142 


Silence 

case,  and  meditated.  His  long,  black  beard, 
inwoven  with  silver  threads,  lay  dignified  on  his 
breast,  and  it  slowly  heaved  at  every  deep  breath. 

"Well,  let  us  go!"  said  he. 

Olga  Stepanovna  quickly  arose  and  entreated 
in  an  appealing,  timid  voice: 

"Only  don't  revile  her,  father!  You  know  the 
sort  she  is." 

Vera's  chamber  was  in  the  attic,  and  the  narrow, 
wooden  stair  bent  and  creaked  under  the  heavy 
tread  of  Father  Ignatius.  Tall  and  ponderous,  he 
lowered  his  head  to  avoid  striking  the  floor  of  the 
upper  story,  and  frowned  disdainfully  when  the 
white  jacket  of  his  wife  brushed  his  face.  Well  he 
knew  that  nothing  would  come  of  then-  talk  with 
Vera. 

"Why  do  you  come?"  asked  Vera,  raising  a 
bared  arm  to  her  eyes.  The  other  arm  lay  on  top 
of  a  white  summer  blanket  hardly  distinguishable 
from  the  fabric,  so  white,  translucent,  and  cold  was 
its  aspect. 

"Verochka!"  began  her  mother,  but  sobbing, 
she  grew  silent. 

"Vera!"  said  her  father,  making  an  effort  to 
soften  his  dry  and  hard  voice.  "Vera,  tell  us,  what 
troubles  you?  " 

Vera  was  silent. 

"Vera,  do  not  we,  your  mother  and  I,  deserve 
your  confidence?  Do  we  not  love  you?  And  is 
there  someone  nearer  to  you  than  we?  Tell  us 
143 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

about  your  sorrow,  and,  believe  me,  you'll  feel  better 
for  it.  And  we  too.  Look  at  your  aged  mother, 
how  much  she  suffers!" 

"Verochka!" 

"And  I  ..."  The  dry  voice  trembled, 
truly  something  had  broken  in  it.  "And  I  .  „  . 
do  you  think  I  find  it  easy?  As  if  I  did  not  see 
that  some  sorrow  is  gnawing  at  you — and  what  is 
it?  And  I,  your  father,  do  not  know  what  it  is. 
Is  it  right  that  it  should  be  so?  " 

Vera  was  silent.  Father  Ignatius  very  cau- 
tiously stroked  his  beard,  as  if  afraid  that  his  fingers 
would  enmesh  themselves  involuntarily  in  it,  and 
continued: 

"Against  my  wish  you  went  to  St.  Petersburg — 
did  I  pronounce  a  curse  upon  you,  you  who  dis- 
obeyed me?  Or  did  I  not  give  you  money?  Or, 
you'll  say,  I  have  not  been  kind?  Well,  why  then 
are  you  silent?  There,  you've  had  your  St.  Peters- 
burg!" 

Father  Ignatius  became  silent,  and  an  image 
arose  before  him  of  something  huge,  of  granite, 
and  terrible,  full  of  invisible  dangers  and  strange 
and  indifferent  people.  And  there,  alone  and 
weak,  was  his  Vera  and  there  they  had  lost  her.  An 
awful  hatred  against  that  terrible  and  mysterious 
city  grew  in  the  soul  of  Father  Ignatius,  and  an 
anger  against  his  daughter  who  was  silent,  obsti- 
nately silent. 

"St.  Petersburg  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  said 
144 


Silence 

Vera,  morosely,  and  closed  her  eyes.    "And  nothing 
is  the  matter  with  me.    Better  go  to  bed,  it  is  late." 

"Verochka,"  whimpered  her  mother.  "Little 
daughter,  do  confess  to  me." 

"Akh,  mamma!"  impatiently  Vera  interrupted 
her. 

Father  Ignatius  sat  down  on  a  chair  and  laughed. 

"Well,  then  it's  nothing?"  he  inquired,  ironically. 

"Father,"  sharply  put  in  Vera,  raising  herself 
from  the  pillow,  "you  know  that  I  love  you  and 
mother.  Well,  I  do  feel  a  little  weary.  But  that 
will  pass.  Do  go  to  sleep,  and  I  also  wish  to  sleep. 
And  to-morrow,  or  some  other  time,  we'll  have  a 
chat." 

Father  Ignatius  impetuously  arose  so  that  the 
chair  hit  the  wall,  and  took  his  wife's  hand. 

"Let  us  go." 

"Verochka!" 

"Let  us  go,  I  tell  you!"  shouted  Father  Ignatius. 
"If  she  has  forgotten  God,  shall  we  .  .  ." 

Almost  forcibly  he  led  Olga  Stepanovna  out  of 
the  room,  and  when  they  descended  the  stairs,  his 
wife,  decreasing  her  gait,  said  in  a  harsh  whisper: 

"It  was  you,  priest,  who  have  made  her  such. 
From  you  she  learnt  her  ways.  And  you'll  answer 
for  it.  Akh,  unhappy  creature  that  I  am!" 

And  she  wept,  and,  as  her  eyes  filled  with  tears, 
her  foot,  missing  a  step,  would  descend  with  a 
sudden  jolt,  as  if  she  were  eager  to  fall  into  some 
existent  abyss  below. 

145 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

From  that  day  Father  Ignatus  ceased  to  speak 
with  his  daughter,  but  she  seemed  not  to  notice 
it.  As  before  she  lay  in  her  room,  or  walked  about, 
continually  wiping  her  eyes  with  the  palms  of  her 
hands  as  if  they  contained  some  irritating  foreign 
substance.  And  crushed  between  these  two  silent 
people,  the  jolly,  fun-loving  wife  of  the  priest 
quailed  and  seemed  lost,  not  knowing  what  to  say 
or  do. 

Occasionally  Vera  took  a  stroll.  A  week  following 
the  interview  she  went  out  in  the  evening,  as  was  her 
habit.  She  was  not  seen  alive  again,  as  on  this 
evening  she  threw  herself  under  the  train,  which 
cut  her  in  two. 

Father  Ignatius  himself  directed  the  funeral. 
His  wife  was  not  present  in  church,  as  at  the  news 
of  Vera's  death  she  was  prostrated  by  a  stroke. 
She  lost  control  of  her  feet,  hands,  and  tongue,  and 
she  lay  motionless  in  the  semi-darkened  room  when 
the  church  bells  rang  out.  She  heard  the  people,  as 
they  issued  out  of  church  and  passed  the  house, 
intone  the  chants,  and  she  made  an  effort  to  raise 
her  hand,  and  to  make  a  sign  of  the  cross,  but  her 
hand  refused  to  obey;  she  wished  to  say:  "Fare- 
well, Vera!"  but  the  tongue  lay  in  her  mouth  huge 
and  heavy.  And  her  attitude  was  so  calm,  that  it 
gave  one  an  impression  of  restfulness  or  sleep.  Only 
her  eyes  remained  open. 

At  the  funeral,  in  church,  were  many  people  who 
knew  Father  Ignatius,  and  many  strangers,  and  all 

146 


Silence 

bewailed  Vera's  terrible  death,  and  tried  to  find  in 
the  movements  and  voice  of  Father  Ignatius  tokens 
of  a  deep  sorrow.  They  did  not  love  Father  Igna- 
tius because  of  his  severity  and  proud  manners,  his 
scorn  of  sinners,  for  his  unforgiving  spirit,  his  envy 
and  covetousness,  his  habit  of  utilising  every  oppor- 
tunity to  extort  money  from  his  parishioners.  They 
all  wished  to  see  him  suffer,  to  see  his  spirit  broken, 
to  see  him  conscious  in  his  two-fold  guilt  for  the 
death  of  his  daughter — as  a  cruel  father  and  a  bad 
priest — incapable  of  preserving  his  own  flesh  from 
sin.  They  cast  searching  glances  at  him,  and  he, 
feeling  these  glances  directed  toward  his  back, 
made  efforts  to  hold  erect  its  broad  and  strong  ex- 
panse, and  his  thoughts  were  not  concerning  his 
dead  daughter,  but  concerning  his  own  dignity. 

"A  hardened  priest!"  said,  with  a  shake  of  his 
head,  Karzenoff,  a  carpenter,  to  whom  Father 
Ignatius  owed  five  roubles  for  frames. 

And  thus,  hard  and  erect,  Father  Ignatius  reached 
the  burial  ground,  and  in  the  same  manner  he  re- 
turned. Only  at  the  door  of  his  wife's  chamber 
did  his  spine  relax  a  little,  but  this  may  have  been 
due  to  the  fact  that  the  height  of  the  door  was  inade- 
quate to  admit  his  tall  figure.  The  change  from 
broad  daylight  made  it  difficult  for  him  to  dis- 
tinguish the  face  of  his  wife,  but,  after  scrutiny,  he 
was  astonished  at  its  calmness  and  because  the  eyes 
showed  no  tears.  And  there  was  neither  anger, 
nor  sorrow  in  the  eyes — they  were  dumb,  and  they 
147 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

kept  silent  with  difficulty,  reluctantly,  as  did  the 
entire  plump  and  helpless  body,  pressing  against 
the  feather  bedding. 

"Well,  how  do  you  feel?"  inquired  Father 
Ignatius. 

The  lips,  however,  were  dumb;  the  eyes  also 
were  silent.  Father  Ignatius  laid  his  hand  on 
her  forehead;  it  was  cold  and  moist,  and  Olga  Step- 
anovna  did  not  show  in  any  way  that  she  had  felt 
the  hand's  contact.  When  Father  Ignatius  re- 
moved his  hand  there  gazed  at  him,  immobile,  two 
deep  grey  eyes,  seeming  almost  entirely  dark  from 
the  dilated  pupils,  and  there  was  neither  sadness 
in  them,  nor  anger. 

"I  am  going  into  my  own  room,"  said  Father 
Ignatius,  who  began  to  feel  cold  and  terror. 

He  passed  through  the  drawing-room,  where 
everything  appeared  neat  and  in  order,  as  usual, 
and  where,  attired  in  white  covers,  stood  tall  chairs, 
like  corpses  in  their  shrouds.  Over  one  window 
hung  an  empty  wire  cage,  with  the  door  open. 

"Nastasya!"  shouted  Father  Ignat  s,  and  his 
voice  seemed  to  him  coarse,  and  he  fel  :U  at  ease 
because  he  raised  his  voice  so  high  in  these  silent 
rooms,  so  soon  after  his  daughter's  funeral.  "Nas- 
tasya!" he  called  out  in  a  lower  tone  of  voice,  "where 
is  the  canary?" 

"She  flew  away,  to  be  sure." 

"Why  did  you  let  it  out?" 

Nastasya  began  to  weep,  and  wiping  her  face 
148 


Silence 

with  the  edges  of  her  calico  headkerchief,  said 
through  her  tears: 

"It  was  my  young  mistress's  soul.  Was  it  right 
to  hold  it?" 

And  it  seemed  to  Father  Ignatius  that  the  yellow, 
happy  little  canary,  always  singing  with  inclined 
head,  was  really  the  soul  of  Vera,  and  if  it  had  not 
flown  away  it  wouldn't  have  been  possible  to  say 
that  Vera  had  died.  He  became  even  more  in- 
censed at  the  maid-servant,  and  shouted: 

"Off  with  you!" 

And  when  Nastasya  did  not  find  the  door  at  once 
he  added: 

"Fool!" 


From  the  day  of  the  funeral  silence  reigned  in 
the  little  house.  It  was  not  stillness,  for  stillness 
is  merely  the  absence  of  sounds;  it  was  silence, 
because  it  seemed  that  they  who  were  silent  could 
say  something  but  would  not.  So  thought  Father 
Ignatius  each  time  he  entered  his  wife's  chamber 
and  met  that  obstinate  gaze,  so  heavy  in  its  aspect 
that  it  seemed  to  transform  the  very  air  into  lead, 
which  bore  down  one's  head  and  spine.  So  thought 
he,  examining  his  daughter's  music  sheets,  which 
bore  imprints  of  her  voice,  as  well  as  her  books  and 
her  portrait,  which  she  brought  with  her  from 
St.  Petersburg.  Father  Ignatius  was  accustomed 
to  scrutinise  the  portrait  in  established  order: 
149 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

First,  he  would  gaze  on  the  cheek  upon  which  a 
strong  light  was  thrown  by  the  painter;  in  his  fancy 
he  would  see  upon  it  a  slight  wound,  which  he  had 
noticed  on  Vera's  cheek  in  death,  and  the  source  of 
which  he  could  not  understand.  Each  time  he 
would  meditate  upon  causes;  he  reasoned  that  if  it 
was  made  by  the  train  the  entire  head  would  have 
been  crushed,  whereas  the  head  of  Vera  remained 
wholly  untouched.  It  was  possible  that  some- 
one did  it  with  his  foot  when  the  corpse  was  re- 
moved, or  accidentally  with  a  finger  nail. 

To  contemplate  at  length  upon  the  details  of 
Vera's  death  taxed  the  strength  of  Father  Ignatius, 
so  that  he  would  pass  on  to  the  eyes.  These  were 
dark,  handsome,  with  long  lashes,  which  cast  deep 
shadows  beneath,  causing  the  whites  to  seem  particu- 
larly luminous,  both  eyes  appearing  to  be  inclosed 
in  black,  mourning  frames.  A  strange  expression 
was  given  them  by  the  unknown  but  talented  artist; 
it  seemed  as  if  in  the  space  between  the  eyes  and  the 
object  upon  which  they  gazed  there  lay  a  thin, 
transparent  film.  It  resembled  somewhat  the  effect 
obtained  by  an  imperceptible  layer  of  dust  on  the 
black  top  of  a  piano,  softening  the  shine  of  polished 
wood.  And  no  matter  how  Father  Ignatius  placed 
the  portrait,  the  eyes  insistently  followed  him,  but 
there  was  no  speech  in  them,  only  silence;  and  this 
silence  was  so  clear  that  it  seemed  it  could  be  heard. 
And  gradually  Father  Ignatius  began  to  think  that 
he  heard  silence. 

150 


Silence 

Every  morning  after  breakfast  Father  Ignatius 
would  enter  the  drawing-room,  throw  a  rapid 
glance  at  the  empty  cage  and  the  other  familiar 
objects,  and  seating  himself  in  the  armchair  would 
close  his  eyes  and  listen  to  the  silence  of  the  house. 
There  was  something  grotesque  about  this.  The 
cage  kept  silence,  stilly  and  tenderly,  and  in  this 
silence  were  felt  sorrow  and  tears,  and  distant  dead 
laughter.  The  silence  of  his  wife,  softened  by  the 
walls,  continued  insistent,  heavy  as  lead,  and  terrible, 
so  terrible  that  on  the  hottest  day  Father  Ignatius 
would  be  seized  by  cold  shivers.  Continuous 
and  cold  as  the  grave,  and  mysterious  as  death, 
was  the  silence  of  his  daughter.  The  silence  itself 
seemed  to  share  this  suffering  and  struggled,  as  it 
were,  with  the  terrible  desire  to  pass  into  speech; 
however,  something  strong  and  cumbersome,  as  a 
machine,  held  it  motionless  and  stretched  it  out  as  a 
wire.  And  somewhere  at  the  distant  end,  the  wire 
would  begin  to  agitate  and  resound  subduedly, 
feebly,  and  plaintively.  With  joy,  yet  with  terror, 
Father  Ignatius  would  seize  upon  this  engendered 
sound,  and  resting  with  his  arms  upon  the  arms 
of  the  chair,  would  lean  his  head  forward,  awaiting 
the  sound  to  reach  him.  But  the  sound  would 
break  and  pass  into  silence. 

"  How  stupid ! "  muttered  Father  Ignatius,  angrily, 

arising  from  the  chair,  still  erect  and  tall.    Through 

the  window  he  saw,  suffused  with  sunlight,  the 

street,  which  was  paved  with  round,  even-sized 

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Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

stones,  and  directly  across,  the  stone  wall  of  a  long, 
windowless  shed.  On  the  corner  stood  a  cab-driver, 
resembling  a  clay  statue,  and  it  was  difficult  to 
understand  why  he  stood  there,  when  for  hours 
there  was  not  a  single  passer-by. 

ra 

Father  Ignatius  had  occasion  for  considerable 
speech  outside  his  house.  There  was  talking  to 
be  done  with  the  clergy,  with  the  members  of  his 
flock,  while  officiating  at  ceremonies,  sometimes 
with  acquaintances  at  social  evenings;  yet,  upon  his 
return  he  would  feel  invariably  that  the  entire  day 
he  had  been  silent.  This  was  due  to  the  fact  that 
with  none  of  those  people  he  could  talk  upon  that 
matter  which  concerned  him  most,and  upon  which  he 
would  contemplate  each  night:  Why  did  Vera  die? 

Father  Ignatius  did  not  seem  to  understand  that 
now  this  could  not  be  known,  and  still  thought  it 
was  possible  to  know.  Each  night — all  his  nights 
had  become  sleepless — he  would  picture  that  minute 
when  he  and  his  wife,  in  dead  midnight,  stood  near 
Vera's  bed,  and  he  entreated  her:  "Tell  us! "  And 
when  in  his  recollection,  he  would  reach  these  words, 
the  rest  appeared  to  him  not  as  it  w,as  in  reality. 
His  closed  eyes,  preserving  in  their  darkness  a  live 
and  undimmed  picture  of  that  night,  saw  how  Vera 
raised  herself  in  her  bed,  smiled  and  tried  to  say 
something.  And  what  was  that  she  tried  to  say? 
That  unuttered  word  of  Vera's,  which  should  have 
152 


Silence 

solved  all,  seemed  so  near,  that  if  one  only  had  bent 
his  ear  and  suppressed  the  beats  of  his  heart,  one 
could  have  heard  it,  and  at  the  same  time  it  was  so 
infinitely,  so  hopelessly  distant.  Father  Ignatius 
would  arise  from  his  bed,  stretch  forth  his  joined 
hands  and,  wringing  them,  would  exclaim: 

"Vera!" 

And  he  would  be  answered  by  silence. 

One  evening  Father  Ignatius  entered  the  chamber 
of  Olga  Stepanovna,  whom  he  had  not  come  to  see 
for  a  week,  seated  himself  at  her  head,  and  turning 
away  from  that  insistent,  heavy  gaze,  said: 

"Mother!  I  wish  to  talk  to  you  about  Vera. 
Do  you  hear?  " 

Her  eyes  were  silent,  and  Father  Ignatius  raising 
his  voice,  spoke  sternly  and  powerfully,  as  he  was 
accustomed  to  speak  with  penitents: 

"I  am  aware  that  you  are  under  the  impression 
that  I  have  been  the  cause  of  Vera's  death.  Reflect, 
however,  did  I  love  her  less  than  you  loved  her? 
You  reason  absurdly.  I  have  been  stern;  did  that 
prevent  her  from  doing  as  she  wished?  I  have 
forfeited  the  dignity  of  a  father,  I  humbly  bent  my 
neck,  when  she  defied  my  malediction  and  departed 
hence.  And  you — did  you  not  entreat  her  to  remain, 
until  I  commanded  you  to  be  silent.  Did  I  beget 
cruelty  in  her?  Did  I  not  teach  her  about  God, 
about  humility,  about  love?  " 

Father  Ignatius  quickly  glanced  into  the  eyes  of 
his  wife,  and  turned  away. 
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Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

"What  was  there  for  me  to  do  when  she  did  not 
wish  to  reveal  her  sorrow?  Did  I  not  command 
her?  Did  I  not  entreat  her?  I  suppose,  in  your 
opinion,  I  should  have  dropped  on  my  knees  before 
the  maid,  and  cried  like  an  old  woman!  How 
should  I  know  what  was  going  on  in  her  head! 
Cruel,  heartless  daughter!" 

Father  Ignatius  hit  his  knees  with  his  fist. 

"There  was  no  love  hi  her — that's  what!  As 
far  as  I'm  concerned,  that's  settled,  of  course — I'm 
a  tyrant!  Perhaps  she  loved  you — you,  who  wept 
and  humbled  yourself?  " 

Father  Ignatius  gave  a  hollow  laugh. 

"There's  love  for  you!  And  as  a  solace  for  you, 
what  a  death  she  chose!  A  cruel,  ignominious 
death.  She  died  in  the  dust,  in  the  dirt — as  a 
d-dog  who  is  kicked  in  the  jaw." 

The  voice  of  Father  Ignatius  sounded  low  and 
hoarse: 

"I  feel  ashamed!  Ashamed  to  go  out  in  the 
street !  Ashamed  before  the  altar !  Ashamed  before 
God!  Cruel,  undeserving  daughter!  Accurst  in 
thy  grave!" 

When  Father  Ignatius  glanced  at  his  wife  she 
was  unconscious,  and  revived  only  after  several 
hours.  When  she  regained  consciousness  her  eyes 
were  silent,  and  it  was  impossible  to  tell  whether 
or  not  she  remembered  what  Father  Ignatius  had 
said. 

That  very  night — it  was  a  moonlit,  calm,  warm 
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Silence 

and  deathly-still  night  in  May— Father  Ignatius, 
proceeding  on  his  tip-toes,  so  as  not  to  be  over- 
heard by  his  wife  and  the  sick-nurse,  climbed  up  the 
stairs  and  entered  Vera's  room.  The  window  in  the 
attic  had  remained  closed  since  the  death  of  Verar 
and  the  atmosphere  was  dry  and  warm,  with  a  light 
odour  of  burning  that  comes  from  heat  generated 
during  the  day  hi  the  iron  roof.  The  air  of  lifeless- 
ness  and  abandonment  permeated  the  apartment, 
which  for  a  long  time  had  remained  unvisited,  and 
where  the  timber  of  the  walls,  the  furniture,  and 
other  objects  gave  forth  a  slight  odour  of  continued 
putrescence.  A  bright  streak  of  moonlight  fell  on 
the  window-sill,  and  on  the  floor,  and,  reflected  by 
the  white,  carefully  washed  boards,  cast  a  dim  light 
into  the  room's  corners,  while  the  white,  clean  bed, 
with  two  pillows,  one  large  and  one  small,  seemed 
phantom-like  and  aerial.  Father  Ignatius  opened 
the  window,  causing  to  pour  into  the  room  a  con- 
siderable current  of  fresh  air,  smelling  of  dust,  of 
the  nearby  river,  and  the  blooming  linden.  An 
indistinct  sound  as  of  voices  in  chorus  also  entered 
occasionally;  evidently  young  people  rowed  and 
sang. 

Quietly  treading  with  naked  feet,  resembling  a 
white  phanton,  Father  Ignatius  made  his  way  to 
the  vacant  bed,  bent  his  knees  and  fell  face  down 
on  the  pillows,  embracing  them — on  that  spot 
where  should  have  been  Vera's  face.  Long  he  lay 
thus;  the  song  grew  louder,  then  died  out;  but  he 
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Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

still  lay  there,  while  his  long,  black  hair  spread  over 
his  shoulders  and  the  bed. 

The  moon  had  changed  its  position,  and  the 
room  grew  darker,  when  Father  Ignatius  raised 
his  head  and  murmured,  putting  into  his  voice 
the  entire  strength  of  his  long-suppressed  and 
unconscious  love  and  hearkening  to  his  own 
words,  as  if  it  were  not  he  who  was  listening,  but 
Vera. 

"  Vera,  daughter  mine!  Do  you  understand  what 
you  are  to  me,  daughter?  Little  daughter!  My 
heart,  my  blood,  and  my  life.  Your  father — your 
old  father — is  already  grey,  and  also  feeble." 

The  shoulders  of  Father  Ignatius  shook  and  the 
entire  burdened  figure  became  agitated.  Suppressing 
his  agitation,  Father  Ignatius  murmured  tenderly, 
as  to  an  infant: 

"Your  old  father  entreats  you.  No,  little  Vera, 
he  supplicates.  He  weeps.  He  never  has  wept  be- 
fore. Your  sorrow,  little  child,  your  sufferings — 
they  are  also  mine.  Greater  than  mine." 

Father  Ignatius  shook  his  head. 

"Greater,  Verochka.  What  is  death  to  an  old 
man  like  me?  But  you — if  you  only  knew  how 
delicate  and  weak  and  timid  you  are!  Do  you  recall 
how  you  bruised  your  finger  once  and  the  blood 
trickled  and  you  cried  a  little?  My  child!  I  know 
that  you  love  me,  love  me  intensely.  Every  morning 
you  kiss  my  hand.  Tell  me,  do  tell  me,  what  grief 
troubles  your  little  head,  and  I — with  these  hands — 
156 


Silence 

shall  smother  your  grief.  They  are  still  strong,  Vera, 
these  hands." 

The  hair  of  Father  Ignatius  shook. 

"Tell  me!" 

Father  Ignatius  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  wall,  and 
wrung  his  hands. 

"Tell  me!" 

Stillness  prevailed  in  the  room,  and  from  afar  was 
heard  the  prolonged  and  broken  whistle  of  a  loco- 
motive. 

Father  Ignatius,  gazing  out  of  his  dilated  eyes,  as 
if  there  had  arisen  suddenly  before  him  the  frightful 
phantom  of  the  mutilated  corpse,  slowly  raised 
himself  from  his  knees,  and  with  a  credulous  motion 
reached  for  his  head  with  his  hand,  with  spread  and 
tensely  stiffened  fingers.  Making  a  step  toward  the 
door,  Father  Ignatius  whispered  brokenly: 

"Tell  me!" 

And  he  was  answered  by  silence. 

IV 

The  next  day,  after  an  early  and  lonely  dinner, 
Father  Ignatius  went  to  the  graveyard,  the  first 
time  since  his  daughter's  death.  It  was  warm, 
deserted  and  still;  it  seemed  more  like  an  illumined 
night.  Following  habit,  Father  Ignatius,  with 
effort,  straightened  his  spine,  looked  severely  about 
him,  and  thought  that  he  was  the  same  as  formerly; 
he  was  conscious  neither  of  the  new,  terrible  weak- 
ness in  his  legs,  nor  that  his  long  beard  had  become 
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Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

entirely  white  as  if  a  hard  frost  had  hit  it.  The  road 
to  the  graveyard  led  through  a  long,  direct  street, 
slightly  on  an  upward  incline,  and  at  its  termination 
loomed  the  arch  of  the  graveyard  gate,  resembling  a 
dark,  perpetually  open  mouth,  edged  with  glistening 
teeth. 

Vera's  grave  was  situated  in  the  depth  of  the 
grounds,  where  the  sandy  little  pathways  terminated, 
and  Father  Ignatius,  for  a  considerable  time,  was 
obliged  to  blunder  along  the  narrow  footpaths,  which 
led  in  a  broken  line  between  green  mounds,  by  all 
forgotten  and  abandoned.  Here  and  there  appeared, 
green  with  age,  sloping  tombstones,  broken  railings, 
and  large,  heavy  stones  planted  in  the  ground,  and 
seemingly  crushing  it  with  some  cruel,  ancient  spite. 
Near  one  such  stone  was  the  grave  of  Vera.  It  was 
covered  with  fresh  turf,  turned  yellow;  around, 
however,  all  was  in  bloom.  Ash  embraced  maple 
tree;  and  the  widely  spread  hazel  bush  stretched  out 
over  the  grave  its  bending  branches  with  their 
downy,  shaggy  foliage.  Sitting  down  on  a  neighbour- 
ing grave  and  catching  his  breath,  Father  Ignatius 
looked  around  him,  throwing  a  glance  upon  the 
cloudless,  desert  sky,  where  in  complete  immov- 
ability hung  the  glowing  sun  disk — and  here  he  only 
felt  that  deep,  incomparable  stillness  which  reigns  in 
graveyards,  when  the  wind  is  absent  and  the  slum- 
bering foliage  has  ceased  its  rustling.  And  anew 
the  thought  came  to  Father  Ignatius  that  this  was 
not  a  stillness  but  a  silence.  It  extended  to  the  very 
158 


Silence 

brick  walls  of  the  graveyard,  crept  over  them  and 
occupied  the  city.  And  it  terminated  only— in  those 
grey,  obstinate  and  reluctantly  silent  eyes. 

Father  Ignatius'  shoulders  shivered,  and  he 
lowered  his  eyes  upon  the  grave  of  Vera.  He  gazed 
long  upon  the  little  tufts  of  grass  uprooted  together 
with  the  earth  from  some  open,  wind-swept  field  and 
not  successful  in  adapting  themselves  to  a  strange 
soil;  he  could  not  imagine  that  there,  under  this 
grass,  only  a  few  feet  from  him,  lay  Vera.  And  this 
nearness  seemed  incomprehensible  and  brought  con- 
fusion into  the  soul  and  a  strange  agitation.  She, 
of  whom  Father  Ignatius  was  accustomed  to  think 
of  as  one  passed  away  forever  into  the  dark  depths 
of  eternity,  was  here,  close  by — and  it  was  hard  to 
understand  that  she,  nevertheless,  was  no  more  and 
never  again  would  be.  And  in  the  mind's  fancy  of 
Father  Ignatius  it  seemed  that  if  he  could  only  utter 
some  word,  which  was  almost  upon  his  lips,  or  if  he 
could  make  some  sort  of  movement,  Vera  would 
issue  forth  from  her  grave  and  arise  to  the  same 
height  and  beauty  that  was  once  hers.  And  not 
alone  would  she  arise,  but  all  corpses,  intensely  sensi- 
tive in  their  solemnly-cold  silence. 

Father  Ignatius  removed  his  wide-brimmed  black 
hat,  smoothed  down  his  disarranged  hair,  and 
whispered: 

"Vera!" 

Father  Ignatius  felt  ill  at  ease,  fearing  to  be  over- 
heard by  a  stranger,  and  stepping  on  the  grave  he 
159 


Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

gazed  around  him.  No  one  was  present,  and  this 
time  he  repeated  loudly: 

"Vera!" 

It  was  the  voice  of  an  aged  man,  sharp  and  de- 
manding, and  it  was  strange  that  a  so  powerfully 
expressed  desire  should  remain  without  answer. 

"Vera!" 

Loudly  and  insistently  the  voice  called,  and  when 
it  relapsed  into  silence,  it  seemed  for  a  moment  that 
somewhere  from  underneath  came  an  incoherent 
answer.  And  Father  Ignatius,  clearing  his  ear  of 
his  long  hair,  pressed  it  to  the  rough,  prickly  turf. 

"Vera,  tell  me!" 

With  terror,  Father  Ignatius  felt  pouring  into  his 
ear  something  cold  as  of  the  grave,  which  froze  his 
marrow;  Vera  seemed  to  be  speaking — speaking, 
however,  with  the  same  unbroken  silence.  This 
feeling  became  more  racking  and  terrible,  and  when 
Father  Ignatius  forced  himself  finally  to  tear  away 
his  head,  his  face  was  pale  as  that  of  a  corpse,  and 
he  fancied  that  the  entire  atmosphere  trembled  and 
palpitated  from  a  resounding  silence,  and  that  this 
terrible  sea  was  being  swept  by  a  wild  hurricane. 
The  silence  strangled  him;  with  icy  waves  it  rolled 
through  his  head  and  agitated  the  hair;  it  smote 
against  his  breast,  which  groaned  under  the  blows. 
Trembling  from  head  to  foot,  casting  around  him 
sharp  and  sudden  glances,  Father  Ignatius  slowly 
raised  himself  and  with  a  prolonged  and  torturous 
effort  attempted  to  straighten  his  spine  and  to  give 
160 


Silence 

proud  dignity  to  his  trembling  body.  He  succeeded 
in  this.  With  measured  protractiveness,  Father 
Ignatius  shook  the  dirt  from  his  knees,  put  on  his 
hat,  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  three  times  over  the 
grave,  and  walked  away  with  an  even  and  firm  gait, 
not  recognising,  however,  the  familiar  burial  ground 
and  losing  his  way. 

"Well,  here  I've  gone  astray!"  smiled  Father 
Ignatius,  halting  at  the  branching  of  the  footpaths. 

He  stood  there  for  a  moment,  and,  unreflecting 
turned  to  the  left,  because  it  was  impossible  to  stand 
and  wait.  The  silence  drove  him  on.  It  arose 
from  the  green  graves;  it  was  the  breath  issuing 
from  the  grey,  melancholy  crosses;  in  thin,  stifling 
currents  it  came  from  all  pores  of  the  earth,  satiated 
with  the  dead.  Father  Ignatius  increased  his  stride. 
Dizzy,  he  circled  the  same  paths,  jumped  over 
graves,  stumbled  across  railings,  clutching  with  his 
hands  the  prickly,  metallic  garlands,  and  tearing 
the  soft  material  of  his  dress  into  tatters.  His  sole 
thought  was  to  escape.  He  fled  from  one  place  to 
another,  and  finally  broke  into  a  dead  run,  seeming 
very  tall  and  unusual  in  the  flowing  cassock,  with  his 
hair  streaming  in  the  wind.  A  corpse  arisen  from 
the  grave  could  not  have  frightened  a  passer-by 
more  than  this  wild  figure  of  a  man,  running  and 
leaping,  and  waving  his  arms,  his  face  distorted  and 
insane,  and  the  open  mouth  breathing  with  a  dull, 
hoarse  sound.  With  one  long  leap,  Father  Ignatius 
landed  on  a  little  street,  at  one  end  of  which  appeared 
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Masterpieces  of  Adventure 

the  small  church  attached  to  the  graveyard.  At  the 
entrance,  on  a  low  bench,  dozed  an  old  man,  seem- 
ingly a  distant  pilgrim,  and  near  him,  assailing  each 
other,  were  two  quarrelling  old  beggar  women,  filling 
the  air  with  their  oaths. 

When  Father  Ignatius  reached  his  home,  it  was 
already  dusk,  and  there  was  light  in  Olga  Stepanov- 
na's  chamber.  Not  undressing  and  without  remov- 
ing his  hat,  dusty  and  tattered,  Father  Ignatius 
approached  his  wife  and  fell  on  his  knees.  "Mother 
.  .  .  Olga  .  .  .  have  pity  on  me!"  he  wept. 
"I  shall  go  mad." 

He  dashed  his  head  against  the  edge  of  the  table 
and  he  wept  with  anguish,  as  one  who  was  weeping 
for  the  first  time.  Then  he  raised  his  head,  confident 
that  a  miracle  would  come  to  pass,  that  his  wife 
would  speak  and  would  pity  him. 

"My  love!" 

With  his  entire  big  body  he  drew  himself  toward 
his  wife — and  met  the  gaze  of  those  grey  eyes. 
There  was  neither  compassion  in  them,  nor  anger. 
It  was  possible  his  wife  had  forgiven  him,  but  in  her 
eyes  there  was  neither  pity,  nor  anger.  They  were 
dumb  and  silent. 

•  •••••• 

And  silent  was  the  entire  dark,  deserted  house. 

END 

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A  A      000337253    9 


